


What the Mind Forgets

by Obsessionist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Dean, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Canon compliant up until the end of season 11, Complete, Contemplation of suicide (brief), Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 57,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessionist/pseuds/Obsessionist
Summary: Dean was missing for 7 months. When they finally find him, he can't remember anything. Not his name, not Sam... not even his husband.





	1. Chapter 1

When he received word that Dean had been found, Cas broke every road law in America to get there as soon as possible. He screeched to a halt in the hospital car park and sprinted inside.

 

He found Sam in the Emergency waiting room.

 

“Where is he? How is he? How did you find him? Is he alright? Which room is he in?” Before he even received a reply, Cas was headed for the doors, intending to find Dean’s room himself.

 

Sam caught his sleeve. “Cas, wait. Before you see him… there’s something you need to know.”

 

It was a struggle to pull himself back, to stop and listen. “What is it?”

 

“He doesn’t remember anything.”

 

Cas frowned. “About what happened to him?”

 

Sam swallowed. Shook his head. “Anything. He didn’t recognise me. He couldn’t even remember his own name.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

“He has all these injuries… I told him he was a solider wounded in action.” Sam gave a low, humourless laugh. “Close enough.”

 

“How bad?”

 

“Bad. It’s probably a mercy that he doesn’t remember what they did to him. After everything he has already been through, and now this… I can’t blame him for wanting to forget.”

 

“There’s no head injury?”

 

“No. The doctors are calling it ‘Dissociative Amnesia’ – loss of memory due to psychological trauma.”

Dean was the strongest person Cas knew. He felt a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. “It was bad, then.”

 

“Cas, you have no idea. Beneath those bandages...” Sam’s face blanched, telling Cas more than words ever could.

 

“Will he ever remember?”

 

“The doctors don’t know. For his sake, I almost hope he doesn’t.”

 

“How can you say that? He has lost everything that makes him who he is!”

 

“Think about it, Cas. He doesn’t remember Mom’s death. Or Dad’s. He doesn’t remember watching me die. He doesn’t remember Hell. He doesn’t remember losing Jo, or Ellen, or Ash, or Bobby. He doesn’t remember monsters or mutilated corpses. He doesn’t remember having the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

 

“He doesn’t remember us.”

 

“I know. And that hurts. But it doesn’t hurt him because he doesn’t know any different. Maybe this is… better. He was never going to stop hunting. He would have kept fighting the good fight until it killed him. This way he has a chance at a life, a normal life. Maybe he could even find a way to be happy. At peace.”

 

“But he won’t be Dean.”

 

“No. But he will be alive. And safe. After everything… he deserves that.”

 

“Sam, we can’t. It isn’t right.”

 

Sam shrugged a little. “Well, it’s not up to us anyway. Either Dean will remember, or he won’t.”

 

“Even if he doesn’t, we could still tell him the truth.”

 

“What, that he’s a hunter? He would laugh in our faces.”

 

“What is the alternative? We just… let him go?”

 

“Yes. We get him set up in a nice house somewhere, help him find a job as a mechanic or something, and then we let him live his life away from all of this crap.”

 

“You can’t ask me to do that.”

 

“We’ve done it before, when I jumped into the Pit and you went back to Heaven. Except last time he was too haunted by his past to really have a true shot at happiness. This is his chance to start fresh. I say we give it to him.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

Sam placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know this isn’t easy. You love him. I do, too. He’s my brother, Cas; he is everything to me. And I know what he means to you. But we humans have a phrase: ‘If you love them, let them go’. We have to put aside what we want and do what is best for Dean.”

 

Cas glanced towards the doors. They had been searching for Dean for 7 months and 12 days. Every night, Cas had dreamed of finding him. He had dreamed of hugging him and kissing him and forcing him to promise that he would never disappear like that again.

 

When Sam called, Cas had felt such tremendous joy and relief.

 

But they hadn’t found Dean. Not really. They were 7 months, 12 days too late.

 

Cas had vowed to save him. He had failed. The least he could do was not hurt him any further.

 

“Okay,” Cas said quietly.

 

“You won’t tell him?”

 

“I won’t tell him. But I at least want to say goodbye.”

 

Sam dropped his hand and stepped back. “Of course.”

 

It was with a heavy heart that Cas entered Dean’s room.

 

The sight of all the tubes and wires and monitors and bandages should have been horrifying.

 

But by far the worst was meeting those beautiful green eyes, and seeing no recognition of him in their depths.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

His mouth twisted a little. “Right. Uh, hi. I’m sorry, I don’t…”

 

“I know. It’s alright. I’m just… a friend.”

 

“Oh. Were we… close?”

 

“In a manner of speaking.”

 

Dean nodded awkwardly. “What- what was your name?”

 

“I’m Castiel.”

 

His mouth did that funny twisty thing again. “Interesting name.”

 

“You called me Cas.”

 

“Ah. That’s easier.”

 

“I am glad that you are okay, Dean. I hope that you have a swift recovery so that your life can get back to normal.”

 

“Yeah. I just wish I knew what that was.”

 

Cas opened his mouth to tell him, but he remembered his promise to Sam. “You’ll work it out,” he said instead. “You’ll be fine.”

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Dean tilted his head, looking at him oddly, almost as though there was a flicker of… something.

 

Cas realised that prolonged exposure to him may cause Dean to remember.

 

The bandages covered almost every inch of his skin. Even his cheekbone was marred by a dark bruise and there was a scar across his forehead that hadn’t been there 7 months ago.

 

Whatever had been done to him had been so severe, so far beyond anything he had experienced in Hell, that Dean had chosen to forget everything rather than be forced to relive those memories.

Cas couldn’t be the one to hurt him like that.

 

“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he said. “Take care of yourself, Dean.”

 

Dean frowned a little. “Yeah… you too.”

 

It took every ounce of strength he had not to break, to run over to the bed and take Dean in his arms and cling to him forever.

 

Heart splintering, Cas slipped the gold ring off his finger and placed it gently on Dean’s beside table. “This is yours,” he whispered. “I was just holding onto it for you.”

 

He turned and left the room before his composure could shatter.

 

He didn’t see Dean pick up the ring, and then look down at the identical ring he still wore on his own hand. He didn’t feel Dean’s gaze staring after him.

 

He thought that was the last time he would ever see his husband.

 

But he didn’t realise he had just given Dean every incentive to remember what he had lost.

 

It wouldn’t be long before Dean came after him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wasn’t stupid.

 

He knew virtually nothing about who he was, or what his life had been before he woke up in that hospital bed, but he wasn’t stupid. Sam was a damn smooth liar, and the tale he’d spun made perfect sense. Dean had been a soldier, he got hurt, they invalidated him out. He used to live on base and all of his belongings had to fit in his pack, so starting out as a civilian he didn’t have much. All of his army buddies were still deployed overseas, which is why no one had come to visit him. The ring on his finger had been his mom’s, and he kept it to remember her by.

 

It was plausible, and Sam delivered the lines without batting an eyelid. But he was lying.

 

Dean was certain of it, despite the fact that the guy had virtually no tells. He might have produced dog tags and Dean’s military I.D to support his story, and the pearl-handled side-arm he’d handed over once Dean was out of the hospital had certainly felt familiar in his hands, and the older scars beneath his still-healing wounds could certainly count as evidence of a life lived on the battlefield. But Dean wasn’t buying it.

 

Because Sam had said nothing about the mysterious man who had spent all of five minutes standing beside his hospital bed before he fled the scene. He seemed to think Dean had forgotten all about him.

 

But as faulty as his memory had proven to be, Dean could never forget the look on that man’s face. He had seemed calm and composed, right up until the moment he turned to leave.

 

It had only been visible for half an instant, but Dean knew what he had seen.

 

Grief. Devastation. Heartbreak.

 

Maybe Dean couldn’t remember anything about his past, but one thing was damn sure.

 

Dean needed to remember _him_. Because he wasn’t just a ‘friend’ as he had claimed to be.

 

He was Dean’s husband.

 

And Dean had the ring in his pocket to prove it.

 

ooOOoo

 

"I've got you an interview over at Ray's Mechanics next Tuesday," Sam said. He had brought in three large bags of shopping and was currently stuffing Dean's fridge with a horrendous quantity of fruit and vegetables.

 

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Do you really think I'm going to eat all that rabbit food?"

 

Sam popped his head out from behind the fridge door, an expression of surprise on his face. "What are you talking about? You live off this stuff."

 

Dean was not at all convinced. "I think I'd prefer a burger. Extra bacon, extra grease."

 

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was a smile twitching at his lips. "Okay, you got me. Can't blame a guy for trying, though." He closed the door after snatching up an apple for himself and came to sit down next to Dean at the table. "You know you need to eat healthy if you're going to regain your previous weight and muscle tone."

 

Dean glanced down at his body. He couldn't remember what he used to look like. He liked to think that he had been handsome. But now his skin was riddled with scars and still-healing wounds that the doctor had told him to leave open to the air. His palms in particular were a mess of scar tissue and three of his fingers were still in splints because the doctor had been forced to re-break them so they would have a chance to heal properly. By far the worst were his knees, though; Dean couldn't look at them without feeling nauseous, even if he had regained some degree of mobility.

 

 _Wounded in action, my ass_ , Dean thought.

 

He doubted that regaining the lost weight would do much to improve his appearance, and a part of him wondered if that was the reason why Castiel had left.

 

"How are you doing?" Sam asked gently.

 

"I'm great," Dean said. Lying seemed to be the status quo between them. "So, a mechanics, huh?"

 

"You'll be great," Sam assured him, accepting the change in topic. "You have rebuilt the Impala from the ground up more times than I can remember." Almost immediately he winced at the poor choice of words. "Sorry."

 

Dean shrugged. "No guarantee that I'll still know how."

 

"You'll know. It's like learning how to ride a bike."

 

"Do I know how to ride a bike?"

 

Sam paused. "Possibly not. But you do know that car inside out. And you can make any engine sing for you. Do some tinkering over the weekend and I'm sure you'll get back into the swing of it."

 

Dean hoped so. He felt useless just sitting around this empty house. He felt restless, as though there was something important he was supposed to be doing. And he felt lonely. Like someone was missing.

 

"Sam? Who was the man who came by my hospital room?"

 

"What man? The psychiatrist? Or the physiotherapist?"

 

Dean frowned. Sam was hedging. He knew damn well which man he was talking about. "Castiel. He said he was a friend."

 

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Oh. I'd forgotten he came by."

 

Dean didn't bother to call him out on the lie. He wasn't expecting any honest answers from this conversation. "He didn't stay long. Left in kind of a hurry."

 

"Well, he's busy," Sam said, looking anywhere but at Dean. He seemed to find a chip in the wood of the table particularly fascinating. "He has to do a lot of travelling for his job."

 

"Which is?"

 

There was a beat of hesitation as Sam invented an answer. "He's in marketing."

 

The suit and trenchcoat combo had made him look far more like a tax accountant than a sales rep, but Dean didn't think either profession fit. "How do I know him?"

 

"He, uh, helped you out of a tight spot once." Oddly enough, that had a ring of truth to it.

 

"Care to elaborate?"

 

Another pause. "You got into a bar fight. He talked the other guy out of beating you to death."

 

Dean thought that anyone trying to have a rational discussion with a drunkard would be far more likely to wind up with his teeth knocked out. But then again, Castiel had looked like the type of man who could hold his own.

 

"So is he likely to drop by again any time soon?" Dean asked. He tried to sound casual about it, as though the dark-haired man with stunning blue eyes wasn't practically all he could think about.

 

Sam's lips turned downward in an unhappy frown. "I doubt it. His work keeps him busy."

 

That was an excuse if Dean had ever heard one. Castiel had walked out on him and apparently had no intention of coming back.

 

Maybe he couldn't stand the sight of Dean anymore. Maybe he didn't want to be burdened with the chore of caring for an invalid. Maybe he was angry that Dean had forgotten him. Maybe their relationship had already been on the rocks and Castiel was glad to be rid of him.

 

But whatever the reason, it was too damn bad. Dean wasn't going to let the man just vanish without a trace. If nothing else, Castiel owed him an explanation.

 

"I'm sorry, Dean. I know this must be hard for you, not knowing anyone-" Sam's phone buzzed. He glanced down at the message and grimaced. "I know this is bad timing, but-"

 

"You're leaving," Dean said flatly.

 

"Something urgent has come up. If I could stay..."

 

Dean waved a hand. "No. It's fine."

 

Sam stood up and gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'll see you next week, okay?"

 

"Sure."

 

"Try to get out of the house a bit. Meet some people. And don't forget the interview on Tuesday. Ray will be expecting you at 9."

 

Dean nodded. "See you around, Sam."

 

There was an awkward moment when Dean thought Sam might try to hug him, but he aborted the movement and headed for the door instead. "Eat your veggies," he called over his shoulder.

 

Then he was gone, and the house was silent.

 

Dean pulled the gold ring from his pocket. He turned it over in his hand, watching the metal gleam in the light from the window.

 

He had been married. He was pretty sure weddings usually involved vows of some sort.

 

He couldn't understand how Castiel could have just left him in that hospital room, when he was hurting and confused and _needed_ someone. What kind of husband would do something like that?

 

Dean intended to ask him that very question. Just as soon as he worked out how to find him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean was out of toilet paper.

 

He had barely made a dent in the over-stocked fridge yet, and he probably had enough shampoo to last him a year, but there was no toilet paper.

 

A part of Dean wondered if Sam had forgotten it deliberately.

 

He had been living in this house for a little over a month, and Sam's weekly supply runs had meant he had no real need to venture out into the neighbourhood.

 

Now it seemed he had no choice.

 

He wasn't looking forward to it. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he would have to admit that the very thought of leaving the safety of these four walls caused a cold sweat to break out on his forehead and anxiety to curl in his gut.

 

He didn't have a logical reason for it. The street outside always looked calm and peaceful when he peered through his curtains. The people walking by looked harmless. There had been no screeching tires or wailing sirens during the night. And Sam wouldn't have set him up in a town with a bad rep.

 

But, irrational as it was, Dean felt that there was something dangerous out there. Something lying in wait, ready to pounce when he let his guard down.

 

There was nothing for it, though. He knew he couldn't hide inside forever.

 

He went through the motions of getting dressed, carefully averting his gaze from the mottled pock-marks and mess of white lines that littered his body. When he knelt to tie his bootlaces the blinding pain from his knees nearly caused him to pass out on the spot. He swayed alarmingly and was sure that the scrambled eggs he'd had for breakfast were about to make a very unpleasant comeback, but he managed to grasp the edge of his dresser and drag himself upright. For what felt like an eternity he just stood there panting, wondering for the hundredth time how he was supposed to do this alone.

 

_Where the hell are you? Why aren't you here?_

 

Dean didn't even realise that he was gripping the ring in his pocket so hard that the metal was digging into his palm until the pain in his knees abated and his hand made its protests known. He released the ring like it had burned him.

 

"This is fucking stupid," Dean muttered. He didn't even know the guy, but he was expecting him to turn up as his knight in shining armour? Pathetic.

 

Gritting his teeth, he stomped into the kitchen and snatched his keys from the bench before storming outside and slamming the door behind him.

 

He resolutely ignored the way his scars tingled at the cold touch of open air.

 

There was something calming about slipping behind the wheel of the Impala. The seat molded to him in a way that nothing in his house did, like it was welcoming him home. The purr of the engine was music to his ears, and as he pulled out onto the road his breathing slowed.

 

He could do this.

 

It wasn't a very large town and Dean found Main Street easily enough, though he almost would have preferred driving around in circles for a few hours. He parked reluctantly and popped the car door open. His knees were stiff but he tried not to let the discomfort show on his face as he locked his car and headed down the sidewalk towards the general store.

 

There were a lot of people in there. He froze on the threshold, staring at the narrow aisles and high shelves and women with strollers and the beeping registers and harried shop assistants and the sheer number of _people_ in such a small space.

 

He couldn't breathe.

 

"Excuse me," a woman said.

 

Dean couldn't move.

 

She frowned and made to squeeze past him and his body jolted like he had been electrocuted; he stumbled backwards and then his knee crumpled and he almost fell.

 

A hand caught him.

 

"Hey, buddy, you okay?"

 

Dean's gaze flashed up, and hope flared in his gut.

 

But it wasn't Castiel.

 

It was a man, probably in his late 20s. He was looking at Dean with concern and held his elbow in a secure grip.

 

"What?" Dean asked stupidly.

 

"Are you okay?" he repeated slowly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

 

The word sent a funny pang through his chest. He had no idea why.

 

"I'm fine," he rasped. "Thank you. Sorry."

 

He looked dubious but let him go. "Okay man."

 

Dean fled into the store, hoping that he wouldn't have to talk to anyone else. He found the toilet paper as fast as he could and handed the money to the cashier without a word. She gave him a glare that clearly meant 'how rude' but he ignored her.

 

It wasn't until he was safely back in his car that he felt he could breathe properly again.

 

As his heart-rate gradually settled, Dean felt a flush creep up his neck. What the hell was wrong with him? He was pretty sure that normal people didn't freak out during a simple shopping trip.

 

He didn't know how he was supposed to function if even the most basic tasks were insanely difficult. Surely his life hadn't been like this before. Maybe it was the whole lot of empty rattling around his brain that was turning him into a head case.

 

He hated it. He wanted to scream and cry and pound his fists into a wall until they bled. He wanted to turn back time and stop his memories from ever going A.W.O.L. He wanted his life back.

 

But what he wanted made no difference. This _was_ his life now. He was just going to have to learn how to cope.

 

And that started with facing this stupid fear of public places.

 

He glanced out through the windshield and noticed that he was parked outside a bookstore. It looked innocuous enough; quiet, quaint, not too many people.

 

He mustered what little courage he had and got back out of the car. He could do this. He waited for a few people to pass him before he crossed to the store front. A bell tinkled as he entered. There was gentle music playing and a musty smell in the air that seemed familiar. He inhaled deeply.

 

"I love the smell of old books."

 

Dean spun around and just barely contained the instinct to punch out whoever it was that had snuck up on him like that. Good thing he had; it was a little old lady with a warm smile, and by her name badge he gathered that this was her bookstore.

 

"Is that what it is?" Dean asked. He hadn't remembered. Because apparently his mind couldn't even hold onto something as simple as that.

 

"Mm. Reminds me of peaceful nights sat by the fireplace with a cup of tea and a good book."

 

Dean didn't know what it reminded him of, but the familiarity of the scent made him think that books must have had some significance in his life before. He wished he knew what.

 

"Are you looking for anything in particular, dear?"

 

"Oh." He hadn't thought that far ahead. He looked around, searching for inspiration, and his gaze lighted on a display of yellow books with titles like 'Cooking Basics for Dummies' and 'Relationships for Dummies' and 'Home Maintenance for Dummies'. Dummy. That seemed the perfect word to describe him. He probably needed the entire set, but one in particular caught his eye: 'Auto Repair for Dummies'. He was supposed to go for a job interview in two days and he had absolutely no confidence that he would have a clue what he was doing. Even if his hands knew their job, if he didn't know the terminology he'd be rejected on the spot.

 

"That one," he said, pointing. "Please."

 

She retrieved it for him and wrapped it in brown paper. Her till made a sound like a bell when she opened it to put through his payment; it was far less jarring than the registers at the general store.

 

"There you are, dear," she said with a smile.

 

He returned one tentatively. "Thank you..." He glanced at her name-tag; he hadn't been paying attention the first time. "...Marjorie."

 

"Any time."

 

He wasn't nearly as panicked this time as he left.

 

 _Slow and steady_ , he thought. He could do this.

 

He was about to return to his car when he caught a glimpse of a tan coat out of the corner of his eye. He whirled to get a better look, his heart suddenly galloping a mile a minute again.

 

But there was no one there.

 

Dean almost ran down the street in search of his mystery man, but he tamped down on the urge. He'd done enough crazy for one day.

 

Disappointed, he got back in the car and drove home.

 

That night he studied his book and tried very hard not to think of the man in the trenchcoat.

 

Dreams, he had less control over.


	4. Chapter 4

Someone was watching him.

 

Dean had been willing to dismiss the incident on Main Street as a combination of stress and wishful thinking, but either he was going crazy or he was being stalked.

 

Almost every time he left the house (which he was forcing himself to do more often now, since he was due to start at the mechanics next week and didn’t know how he was going to cope with the whole human-interaction thing) Dean could feel eyes on him. He would look around, trying to identify the culprit, but the only people around were neighbours or dog-walkers or joggers. At first he thought he was being paranoid, but he happened to glance into the wing mirror of his car and the reflection showed a familiar figure standing on the street corner. Dean pretended to wipe at smudge on his car window while keeping his gaze fixed on the mirror, and the image remained. He even blinked deliberately, giving the mirage a chance to disappear if that’s what it was. But there was no change.

 

The suit and trench-coat were very distinctive. Dean considered the possibility that the man was a random look-alike, but the odds of a random look-alike favouring that particular street corner (which just so happened to be a perfect vantage point for Dean-watching) had to be pretty slim.

 

Dean was fairly certain that his stalker was Castiel.

 

It was infuriating.

 

 _He_ was the one who had chosen to leave, so why was he acting like some spurned lover? If he wanted to drop by to see how Dean was doing, all he had to do was knock on the door. Sure, there was every chance that Dean would punch him in the nose for walking out on him in the first place, but then he’d probably let the man in, sit him down and give him an ice pack. Castiel would talk, and Dean would listen, and maybe they could work something out.

 

Instead, Castiel watched from a distance and vanished whenever Dean caught him in the act.

 

What the hell was Dean supposed to make of that? Did he care, or didn’t he? Did he miss Dean, or did he just feel obliged to keep an eye on him? Did he plan to stay away forever, or was he hoping to come back?

 

Dean wished he could just _ask_ him. If the answers weren’t the ones he was hoping for – well, he’d be disappointed, but then at least he could move on. But if Cas wanted to be with him, they could _try_. Dean wanted to try. He hated the thought that he had found someone to spend the rest of his life with and some stupid memory loss had stolen their future from them. He wasn’t just going to sit back and let that happen.

 

But he needed a plan.

 

He decided that the first step would be to lull Castiel into a false sense of security. He pretended not to notice the weight of his gaze on his back and just went about his life as normal. He spent a lot of time working on his car and paid particular attention to polishing her until she shone so he could surreptitiously glance at the reflections in the gleaming metal. Castiel grew bolder now that he thought Dean wasn’t aware of his presence; he came closer and stared more openly. Dean memorised the shape of his face, the angle of his nose, the wind-swept appearance of his dark hair, the curve of his lips, the blue of his eyes. He also learned Castiel’s habits; where he stood and for how long, what times he tended to come by, the way he would hold himself, how often he would break his stare to glance both ways down the street and how long it would be until he looked back at Dean.

 

A part of Dean was hoping that Castiel would be the one to end this waiting game. Dean didn’t want to have to resort to extreme measures to force Castiel to talk to him. He seemed to be drawn to Dean and was finding it harder to stay away; surely it wouldn’t be long before he stopped staring and finally _did_ something.

 

Which is why, when Dean heard a knock at his door early on Saturday morning, he raced to open it before Castiel could change his mind and flung it open with enthusiasm.

 

“FINA- oh.”

 

It wasn’t Castiel.

 

The stranger standing on his doorstep raised an eyebrow. “Expecting someone else?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, ah… Hi. Sorry. Who are you?”

 

The young man chuckled. “I guess I didn’t introduce myself last time. My name is Jeremy Hodge, we met outside the general store last week?”

 

Dean frowned. He didn’t remember – “Oh.” The man who had saved him from falling flat on his ass. Dean’s cheeks coloured in embarrassment. “Right. Sorry.”

 

“You did seem a little preoccupied,” Jeremy allowed graciously. “But I noticed you working on your car yesterday and I realised that we were neighbours. I’m in the house across the road, two doors down.”

 

“Oh.” Was that the only word in his vocabulary? Dean flashed back to that book title: ‘Conversations for Dummies.’ Maybe he should have bought that one, too. He was making a fool of himself. “You’ve done some nice work with your front yard.”

 

That seemed to have been the right thing to say; Jeremy’s face lit up. “Thanks! I’ve just renovated my backyard, too, actually. I laid down some decking, bought an outdoor furniture set and added a new barbeque as the finishing touch.”

 

“Sounds great,” Dean said, even as he wondered why this man was talking to him. “Mowing the lawn is about the only gardening I do.” And he rather enjoyed it, for some reason.

 

Jeremy laughed. “Well, each to their own. I don’t know a thing about cars, myself.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and Dean began to put the pieces together.

 

“If you’re having car trouble and you wanted me to take a look under the hood, I don’t mind.”

 

“Would you? I’d appreciate it.”

 

“Sure. But get in while you can; after next week I’ll have to start charging.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“I’m starting at Ray’s Mechanics, over on 2nd street.”

 

“Guess I know where I’ll be going next time I need a tune up, then.”

 

Dean felt distinctly awkward, which made no sense because the man was just being friendly. “You, ah, seem very confident in my skills considering I haven’t even looked at your car yet.”

 

“You’re driving a 1967 Chevy that still looks brand new,” Jeremy pointed out.

 

Ray had said the same thing during his interview. Of course, he only had Dean’s word that he’d owned the car since he was eighteen, and Dean had no idea if Sam was telling the truth about that. He had no idea if the experience listed on his resume was real either – apparently he had worked at ‘Singer Auto Self-Service Salvage Yard’ in Sioux Falls for a while, but the owner had passed away so he wasn’t able to provide a reference. Luckily Ray hadn’t questioned it, and Dean’s ability to strip an engine and put it back together had earned him the position.

 

“Anyway, I didn’t just come over to beg favours,” Jeremy said. Dean realised he must have let the silence drag out a bit too long, but Jeremy hadn’t let it bother him. “I’m having a barbeque at my place tomorrow. I’m fairly new around here, too – I thought inviting the neighbours over would be a good way to meet people. You are welcome to come if you’re interested.”

 

Dean swallowed. An afternoon spent making small talk with strangers sounded intimidating. But if he didn’t go he would become known as a crazy recluse and that would be worse. “I’ll be there. Thanks.”

 

“Great! See you then.” Jeremy gave him a smile and a wave as he left.

 

Dean closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling a sigh. He rubbed his temples, willing away a headache. Why, _why_ was this so hard?

 

The hospital psychiatrist had warned him that people with amnesia often suffered from anxiety, but it was one thing to be told that and another thing entirely to experience it. The conversation had barely lasted five minutes but his pulse was racing and his skin felt clammy and his breathing was all over the place. Ridiculously, the only time he felt safe was when his stalker was watching him – because it felt more like Castiel was watching _over_ him, and that was absurdly comforting.

 

God, he was so messed up.

 

It took a while for him to regain his composure, and longer still for him to work up the energy to start his day properly.

 

Sam had bought him weird herbal teas. Dean hadn’t been inclined to try them but coffee wasn’t going to do him any favours right now so he decided to give one a go. It tasted strange, but he felt better afterwards. He ate breakfast while reading the newspaper, scanning each news story briefly as he searched for… something. He didn’t know what. He tried to puzzle it out and got nowhere, so gave up and read the cartoons instead.

 

Out of habit, he glanced out the kitchen window in the hopes of spotting Castiel standing on the street corner. He wasn’t there this time, but Dean noticed that the flowerbeds in his front yard were getting over-grown by weeds. He had complimented Jeremy’s yard, but truthfully most of the houses along this street had well-kept gardens and Dean’s looked shabby in comparison. He supposed he should probably do something to change that.

 

He spent most of the morning out in the sunshine, pulling up what he hoped were weeds and watering what he hoped were the plants that were supposed to be there. It was slow going, especially because he couldn’t kneel so he had to sit and then shuffle along awkwardly, but after a few hours there was visible improvement.

 

He was about to head inside for lunch when he felt eyes on him again.

 

Without looking around, he made a show of struggling to stand up (though the pain in his knees meant there wasn’t much pretence involved), hoping that Castiel would come over to help him.

 

He didn’t.

 

Dean’s features darkened into a glare. Enough was enough. This ended now.

 

He wiped his hands on his trousers and stuck his hands in his pockets. He strode out onto the sidewalk, humming a jaunty tune he had heard on the radio. He walked slowly at first, listening out for the sound of footsteps behind him. When he was sure Castiel was following, he walked a little bit faster. Then faster still. Then he rounded a corner sharply and vanished from Castiel’s sight.

 

When Castiel turned the corner, Dean was nowhere to be seen.

 

Castiel’s steps slowed. He looked around and his expression morphed from confusion to concern. Finally, he stopped walking altogether.

 

That was when Dean pounced.

 

ooOOoo


	5. Chapter 5

 

They slammed to the ground. There was a brief struggle as Castiel tried to fight off his attacker and Dean tried not to die. Castiel was a _lot_ stronger than he looked and Dean had barely even begun to get his strength back. But it didn’t matter, because as soon as Castiel saw who he was he gasped and went limp immediately.

 

Dean dropped his weight onto Castiel’s chest and grabbed his wrists to pin them above his head. “Don’t you move,” he growled.

 

“Dean.” His blue eyes were flared wide with panic.

 

“You remember my name!” Dean crowed sarcastically. “And here I was thinking _you_ were the one with the memory problems.”

 

“Dean, what-”

 

“Did you hit your head? Go through some sort of traumatic experience that fried your brain?”

 

His brow creased. “No. Why would you think-”

 

“Because I don’t understand how else you could have forgotten.”

 

“Forgotten what?”

 

Dean altered his grip so he had one hand free and pulled Castiel’s ring out of his pocket. “This.” He shoved it in Castiel’s face so he could see it up close. “Your wedding ring.”

 

His face paled dramatically. “That’s not-”

 

“I am getting really fucking sick of people lying to me,” Dean snapped. “This is yours. I have one just like it.” Dean closed his fist around Castiel’s ring, save for one finger which he left sticking out so his own ring would be clearly visible. “We’re married.”

 

Castiel’s breath caught.

 

“Deny it,” Dean said. “Deny it, I fucking dare you.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“We’re _married.”_ He practically spat the word. “I’m your husband and you’re mine. We said ‘I do’. We promised to be there for each other through thick and thin.”

 

Tears glistened in Castiel’s eyes. “You… remember?”

 

“No, I don’t fucking remember. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know who _I_ am, and I don’t know why I fell in love with someone who clearly doesn’t love me back!”

 

“Dean, no, that’s not – how could you think that?”

 

“You LEFT ME. You took your ring off and gave it back to me like it meant NOTHING to you and then you just FUCKING LEFT.”

 

“I thought-”

 

“What? You thought that my amnesia was your get-out-of-marriage-free card? You thought that just because I can’t remember the vows you made that suddenly you’re allowed to break them? You thought that you could just walk out on me and I’d let you get away with it?”

 

“I thought that you would be better off without me!”

 

“Oh, of course. That makes perfect sense. Because I didn’t need any help during rehab when they were trying to teach me how to walk again. I didn’t need any help while my broken fingers were healing. I’m just _fine_ with being dumped in an unfamiliar neighbourhood where I don’t know anyone and no one knows me. The panic attacks are a walk in the park and rebuilding my life from scratch has been a breeze. I’m not lonely, or scared, or halfway to insane and wondering why whoever damaged me like this didn’t just finish the job and put me out of my misery!”

 

Castiel stared up at him, shocked by his outburst. “I… I didn’t know it was that bad.”

 

“Of course you didn’t. You weren’t fucking _here_. But I guess that was easier for you, huh?”

 

“Nothing about this has been easy.”

 

“Yeah? Because from where I’m standing, you got the better end of the deal.”

 

“You would think that.”

 

“You think differently?” Dean challenged.

 

“I’m not going to argue with you.”

 

“Oh, no, please. Explain to me how terrible this ordeal has been for you. Tell me about the pain and fear and confusion you’ve felt. Tell me-”

 

“I lost _everything_!” Castiel blurted.

 

“I’m the one who can’t remember anything.”

 

“Right. Exactly. You don’t even know what you’re missing. But the man who meant everything to me, the man I sacrificed everything for, the man I loved more than anything else in all creation and who, somehow, miraculously, loved me in return – that man is _gone_. He was stolen from me.”

 

“I’m right here, Castiel. You’re the one who chose to leave.”

 

“You don’t remember anything! You don’t remember how we met, you don’t remember what we went through together, you don’t remember how we fell in love, you don’t remember our wedding day, you don’t remember the life we built.”

 

“That’s not my fault! If you would just _tell me_ then maybe-”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I have no right to do that to you. To hurt you like that.”

 

“How could telling me our story possibly hurt more than _abandoning_ me?”

 

“Because I’m not the only thing you’ve forgotten! You’ve been through Hell, Dean, more than once. It got so bad that your mind chose to forget everything rather than suffer a moment longer. If I remind you of who we were, your other memories could come back too and I _won’t_ be the one to do that to you. I can’t let you go through that again. Not again.”

 

“That’s not your choice to make.”

 

“Yes, it is. Because I know what was done to you and you don’t. You won’t _ever_ know, not if I can help it.”

 

“I’d rather have my memories back, the good _and_ the bad.”

 

“No.”

 

“I’m going to remember. I am going to do _everything I can_ to remember. You can’t stop me.”

 

“There is nothing here in this town that could jog your memory. We made sure of it.”

 

“But I have you, now.”

 

“I’m not staying, Dean.”

 

“Yes, you damn well are!”

 

“I’m sorry. But if you knew what horrors were lying dormant in your subconscious, you would be thanking me for sparing you from them. You may not understand it, you may not like it, but I am doing this for your own good. You have to trust me.”

 

“No. I don’t trust you. And I’m not letting you go.” For emphasis, Dean forced Castiel’s ring back onto his hand and seized his wrists again.

 

“Dean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“You’re not the one in control of this situation.” Dean leaned closer and his voice came out in a low growl. “I’ve got you trapped, Castiel. You’re not going anywhere.”

 

“Dean, let me up.”

 

“No.”

 

“Now, Dean. I mean it.”

 

“I said no.”

 

“Dean, _please._ ”

 

But Dean only tightened his hold on Castiel’s wrists and shifted his body weight so Castiel was pinned more effectively.

 

Castiel’s breath stuttered unevenly. “You have to let me up.”

 

“Not going to happen.” Dean shimmied back even more to be certain that Castiel couldn’t get enough leverage with his legs to move – and that’s when he noticed the bulge pressing into his thigh.

 

Castiel was _hard_.

 

“Why, you kinky son of a bitch. I’m pissed at you and you’re getting off on it.”

 

Castiel flushed scarlet. “I don’t enjoy having you upset with me, but this is a very compromising position and we are in a public place and-”

 

Dean bent down until their faces were inches apart. “You like it,” he breathed into Castiel’s ear.

 

Castiel shuddered and turned his head away. “Dean, please,” he repeated weakly.

 

Dean seized his jaw and forced Castiel to look at him. “You like being restrained,” he pressed. He deliberately rolled his hips and Castiel let out an involuntary groan. “You would let me take you right here and now.”

 

“Dean-”

 

Dean kissed him. He had been thinking about Castiel for _weeks_ , trying to remember even the simplest thing about him. He wanted to remember what he tasted like. And he wanted Castiel to remember what he was missing out on.

 

It certainly got a reaction, but not the one he was hoping for.

 

Castiel pushed him off with enough force to knock him flat on his ass. He scrambled to his feet before Dean had a chance to react and glared down at him. “ _Don’t,”_ he said fiercely. “Don’t do that.”

 

Dean did not appreciate the shift in the balance of power between them. He stood up and was gratified to discover that he was taller than the other man. “We’re married. I’m allowed to kiss you if I want.”

 

“Not when it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

 

“It means I want you to stay,” Dean argued stubbornly. “It means that I’m willing to forgive your lapse in judgement if you make up for it by sticking around.” He licked his lips; the taste of Castiel lingered but their kiss had not lasted nearly long enough. He wanted to try it again. He wanted more than that. “It also means that I think you’re hot and I wouldn’t say no to re-creating our wedding night.”

 

Castiel stared at him. “Last time it took you a lot longer to admit that you were attracted to me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You liked women.”

 

Now it was Dean’s turn to stare. “I’m not gay?”

 

“I think the current term is ‘bisexual’.”

 

“Okay. Sure. I liked girls and guys. But I married you, so I must have made my choice.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Don’t make me regret it. Come on, Castiel. Come home with me.”

 

Castiel hesitated.

 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Dean relented. “Just talk to me. Please just talk to me.”

 

There was a long pause. Castiel glanced behind him and Dean tensed, realising that if Castiel chose to run there was no way that Dean would be able to catch him with these damned knees.

 

“Okay, Dean,” Castiel sighed. “I’ll stay.”

 

Relief crashed over him. “Good.” Dean snatched his sleeve and dragged him down the street to the house that had felt horribly empty without him.

 

They were going to make this work.


	6. Chapter 6

Cas perched uncomfortably on the edge of the couch, fingers curled around the cold beer Dean had offered him, trying to find a way to talk around the lump in his throat.

 

“Say something.”

 

Cas looked up at Dean and immediately dropped his gaze again.

 

“ _Anything_ ,” Dean stressed. He was sitting on the other side of the couch, keeping a respectful distance between them, but he was leaning forward unconsciously and his hand kept twitching, like he wanted to reach out and touch.

 

Cas wanted him to. He wished he could just close his eyes and pretend this was any other day. They would turn the television on quietly in the background and Dean would slip his arm around him and Cas would curl into his side and they would sit like that for hours. Sometimes Dean would feed him popcorn. Sometimes he would put on silly voices and do bad lip-reads of the cartoon characters. Sometimes he would gently card his fingers through Castiel’s hair. Sometimes he would press gentle kisses to his forehead. Sometimes Cas would fall asleep in his arms and Dean would still be there when he woke up. He would say “Good morning, sunshine”, and Cas would smile and they would spend long, luxurious minutes kissing before finally deciding they should get up to start the day.

 

But that was the old Dean.

 

The Dean sitting across from him now didn’t remember any of that.

 

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

 

“Start with something simple,” Dean suggested. “Your name is Castiel. What’s your surname?”

 

The corner of his lips lifted in a half-hearted smile. “Winchester.”

 

“You took mine?”

 

Cas decided not to try to explain that he didn’t have one of his own. “Yes.” Dean had wanted him to know for sure that he was a part of their family.

 

“How long have we known each other?”

 

If felt like Cas had known Dean all his life. He might have existed for millennia, but until he had met Dean Winchester he hadn’t truly lived. “Almost a decade.”

 

“How long have we been married?”

 

“A little over a year.” But they had been separated for most of that time. Dean had disappeared four months after their wedding. Their anniversary had passed while Dean was still in the hospital; he had spent the day struggling through physical therapy while Cas drowned his sorrows at a local bar.

 

Dean’s eyes were shining, eager. “How did we meet? Sam said you ‘helped me out of a tight spot’ – but it wasn’t a bar fight, was it? What really happened?”

 

_I gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition._

 

But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t tell Dean that he had gone to Hell for 40 years and an angel had been sent to drag him out. Dean didn’t remember being tortured on the rack, or getting off the rack to torture souls in turn. He had been released from the burden of those memories and Cas couldn’t be responsible for making him remember.

 

“Dean, I’m sorry.” Cas set his untouched beer on the coffee table and stood. “This was a mistake. I should go.”

 

“Hey!” Dean caught his hand and attempted to tug him back down onto the couch. Cas resisted, trying not to think about how much easier it was now than it would have been before Dean’s abduction. “You can’t bail on me,” Dean protested. “You promised to stay.”

 

“I can’t give you what you want. I can’t tell you everything you want to know. If you keep asking me questions, I’m going to have to lie to you and I can’t do that.”

 

“So don’t lie. Just – change the subject. Tell me something different.”

 

Reluctantly, Cas sat back down. “You call your car ‘Baby’.”

 

Dean blinked at him. “Okay. I was sort of hoping for something about us, though.”

 

Cas didn’t want to risk it. So much of their relationship was twisted up in hunting and monsters; their first kiss had been after a Wendigo had nearly killed him. Dean had been about to perform CPR when Cas had suddenly woken up to find Dean’s face inches from his own. Neither of them could remember afterwards who had moved first, but they had kissed like the world was ending. And then Cas had spent the next two days in hospital with a concussion and Dean had sat by his bedside, fretting and fussing over him. It was a memory filled with pain and fear, and it was also one of the best moments of Castiel’s life. But he couldn’t share it with Dean.

 

“Come on, Castiel, you gotta give me something.”

 

He thought long and hard, and finally came up with a harmless memory. “We went to a drive-in movie once. We watched the first twenty minutes and after that we became somewhat… distracted. I still don’t know how that movie ends.”

 

Dean burst out laughing.

 

It was the first time Cas had heard him laugh since he was taken. Dean’s full-belly laugh was a rare and precious thing – it was reserved for times like when Cas got them kicked out of a brothel, or when Dean successfully pulled a prank on his brother, or when he was watching ridiculous comedy sketches on YouTube at two in the morning. Cas had missed that sound.

 

“Dude, are you – crying?”

 

“No,” Cas said roughly.

 

The look Dean gave him was far too knowing, far too eerily similar to the way he used to look at him before he lost his memory.

 

It hurt, like a stabbing pain deep in his gut. It hurt because this wasn’t Dean. The man in front of him looked like Dean, sounded like Dean, laughed like Dean. But he wasn’t the same person. Dean was layers of grief and revenge and loyalty and ruthlessness and anger and fear and determination and selflessness and sacrifice and sarcasm and heroism and humour and love. He was the sum of his experiences and his choices.

 

This man was a blank slate. The outer shell of the man Cas loved, with nothing of his substance.

 

It wasn’t his fault, but it hurt to look at him. It hurt to sit with this space between them. It hurt to talk about their life together when the memories were his and not theirs.

 

It hurt to feel tears welling up in his eyes and to feel unable to let them out because his husband wasn’t there to hold him until he could pull himself together again.

 

Cas pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. When he pulled his hands away, he was wearing his angel mask; a blank face, devoid of emotion.

 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked.

 

Cas ignored the question. “It is two thirty in the afternoon, and you spent the morning doing physical labour in the garden. You must be hungry.”

 

Dean’s face fell. “You’re changing the topic.”

 

“What do you want to eat?”

 

Dean sighed but didn’t force the issue. “I could make us some sandwiches. I think there is a block of cheese and a few slices of ham hiding somewhere among the mounds of vegetables that Sam bought.”

 

“I can assist you.”

 

Dean waved away the offer. “I got it.”

 

Cas sank back into the couch as Dean headed to the kitchen. His casual mention of his brother had reminded Cas that he wasn’t supposed to be here. They had agreed that it would be best if Cas distanced himself, but he had failed epically in that regard.

 

Cas pulled out his phone and opened a new message to Sam.

 

 _‘My surveillance of Dean was not as covert as I had hoped,’_ he sent.

 

A new message buzzed in moments later. ‘ _What happened?’_

_‘Dean confronted me.’_

_‘Does he remember?’_

_‘No. But he worked out that we were married and he’s not letting it go.’_

_‘You haven’t told him anything, have you?’_

_‘No, of course not.’_

There was a long pause. Cas could hear Dean cutting up ingredients in the kitchen and humming a little to himself, just like he had hundreds of times before. For a few seconds, Cas could almost imagine that nothing had changed.

 

His phone buzzed. _‘The longer you spend with him the more likely you are to trigger his memories.’_

_‘I know that.’_

 

_‘Are you going to stay?’_

Cas hesitated. Dean was singing now. He didn’t know all the words, but he made up for it by belting out the ones he did know. Cas could picture him swaying his hips in time with the music. Cas had walked in on him dancing in the kitchen a few times and Dean would just throw a wink over his shoulder and dance more suggestively until Cas gave in and joined him.

 

They might never have that again.

 

But even so… _‘I can’t leave,’_ he answered finally.

 

Sam’s response was a long time coming. _‘I get it. Just be careful, Cas. Don’t hurt him.’_ A second message came through straight after. _‘And don’t let him hurt you.’_

 

“Grub’s up!” Dean called.

 

Heart heavy, Cas sent off his reply and slipped the phone into his pocket. He went to join Dean at the table and kept his face impassive as Dean bit into his food with relish, moaning appreciatively at the taste just like he used to.

 

 _‘I’ll do my best,’_ he’d said. But he feared he was already lost.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Cas was staring at the back of his eyelids, trying in vain to fall asleep, when a scream shattered the silence.

 

Cas was off the couch in an instant, sprinting towards Dean’s room with his angel blade firmly in hand. He wasn’t going to let something take him, not again, not ever again.

 

“DEAN!” He burst through the door, searching for the threat.

 

But there was only Dean, hopelessly tangled in his blankets, kicking and struggling to get free. His eyes were rolling madly beneath their lids, his head was tossing on his pillow and he was soaked in sweat.

 

“Nghh - _no_!”

 

Cas stowed his blade and stepped forward hesitantly. Monsters, he could deal with, but without his Grace he was powerless against nightmares.

 

“Cas,” Dean mumbled.

 

“I’m here, Dean.”

 

“Cas…” His voiced was strained. Distressed.

 

“Dean, it’s okay.”

 

“ _Cas!_ CAS! No-”

 

Cas reached out to him. “Dean, I’m-”

 

His hand made contact with Dean’s shoulder. Dean lurched upright with a cry and his fist lashed out blindly. Cas took the blow to his jaw. His head snapped sideways and the shock reverberated through his teeth, but it was Dean that yelled out in pain.

 

“Fuck it, _ow_ , god _damnit_!”

 

Dean was cradling his hand – the finger splints had only been removed last week and now an angry red mark had flared across his knuckles. It was going to swell. He could have re-injured himself.

 

Cas should have ducked, or caught Dean’s wrist before he could land the blow. “Dean, I’m sorry-”

 

“Cas!”

 

Before Cas knew what was happening, Dean had thrown his arms around him.

 

“Oh thank god, thank god…”

 

“Dean?” Cas asked hesitantly. He was torn between elation and sick dread at the thought that Dean could have remembered everything-

 

Dean abruptly pulled back. “Sorry. I know you’re not comfortable with me touching you. I just – it was a bad dream, but I’m fine.”

 

“What sort of dream?” Cas demanded. “A memory?”

 

Dean’s laugh was brittle. “No.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I dreamt that some crazy chick had you tied to a chair and _stabbed_  you to death.”

 

Oxygen seized in his chest. Cas tried to make a sound but he could only gape at Dean in horror.

 

“I’m sorry, I had no idea my imagination was so morbid. But it’s fine, I mean, obviously you’re not dead. It didn’t happen. It was just a dream.”

 

“Just a dream,” Cas repeated hoarsely. But it wasn’t. April _had_  killed him, right before Dean’s eyes. Sure, she had brought him back to life shortly afterwards (Dean had promised to spare her life if she saved him, a promise he had promptly broken) but the point was that Dean had _remembered._ And it wasn’t just any memory, it was one of the bad ones. One of the _worst_  ones. Dean had confessed that it haunted him more than Hell did; physical torment had nothing on heart-break, and although Dean had yet to admit it, he had already been in love with Cas at the time.

 

_“I thought I had lost you. I thought you were gone and that I’d never get the chance to tell you – god, Cas, if he – if she, I mean, if you hadn’t been brought back to life, I – I don’t know what I would have done.”_

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Dean said. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

 

Cas frowned, but he couldn’t expect Dean to remember that he had told him a long time ago to stop apologising for his nightmares. Cas would rather Dean woke him, confided in him, sought comfort from him, than suffer alone.

 

“You didn’t wake me,” Cas assured him.

 

“Trouble sleeping?”

Cas shrugged. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence these days. He had grown accustomed to having the comforting weight of his hunter beside him, often curled into his side with an arm thrown across his chest. When Dean had gone missing, Cas had searched feverishly for 96 hours, until his useless human body had given out on him. He had collapsed into their bed and had been sure that sleep would take him swiftly, but instead he could only stare blankly up at the ceiling. His eyes had burned and muscles had been aching with exhaustion, but his mind and heart had been unwilling to shut down. He couldn’t rest until Dean was home, safe and sound.

 

Except days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and Cas had been forced to snatch moments of unconsciousness where he could. But he never slept well, never deeply, not until Dean had been found. Despite not having him home where he belonged, Cas had been content knowing that he was safe.

 

But being here, being so close but not being able to touch, had brought his insomnia back with a vengeance.

 

He craved Dean. He longed to hold him, to breathe in his scent, to wrap arms and phantom wings around him and to never let him go. He wanted Dean’s warmth, Dean’s solidity, Dean’s nose buried in his neck. He wanted to be close, to be intimate. But he couldn’t.

 

“You should have taken me up on my offer to come to bed with me,” Dean said. “We both might have slept better.”

 

Cas stiffened. “I don’t think so.”

 

“What’s the problem? We’re already married.”

 

 _The problem is that you’re not him!_  Cas wanted to scream.  _You’re not my Dean. Sleeping together meant something to us. It was a demonstration of trust, of love. We allowed ourselves to be completely vulnerable with each other, and it took us a long time to reach that point. You don’t even_ know _me._

 

But he held his tongue. “It is four a.m. Do you think you are going to be able to go back to sleep?”

 

“Maybe. If you come with me.”

 

“No, Dean.”

 

Dean sighed. “I’ll try.”

 

“Good. Call me if you need anything.”

 

Dean muttered something under his breath, but Cas ignored it.

 

Once Dean had settled back under his sheets, Cas returned to the couch. He lay on his side, with his back pressed against the back of the couch and a cushion hugged to his chest. It wasn’t the same.

 

It was a long wait until morning.

 

When Cas heard Dean begin to stir he gave up the pretence of sleeping and relocated to the kitchen. He raided the fridge and pantry, finding it stocked much like the bunker kitchen had been for most of the past year. Sam’s shopping style. Dean would have bought more meat and beer, less rabbit food.

 

Cas selected some ingredients and set about making omelettes for breakfast.

 

He heard the shower run. Dean entered the room just as Cas was setting the food out on the table.

 

“Mm, smells good,” Dean said.

 

Cas turned – and froze at the sight that greeted him.

 

Dean’s hair was dripping wet. The water ran in rivulets down his bare chest and was absorbed into the towel that was slung casually around his hips.

 

The first thing he felt was a rush of arousal. Dammit, Dean was teasing him deliberately.

 

But then what he was truly seeing registered in his brain. He had automatically overlaid an image of the Dean he knew – muscular, tanned, cocky and smiling as he placed his hands on his hips and invited Cas to ‘find out what’s behind curtain number one’ – but the figure standing in front of him now wasn’t the same.

 

He was pale, like he hadn’t seen the sun in months. He was thin, with clearly visible ribs and jutting hip bones. And his body was covered in scars. Jagged lines, knots of mottled flesh, entire patches where skin had been torn off and painfully regrown.

 

Cas had seen the bandages. He had never seen what lay beneath them.

 

A small gasp escaped his lips before he could stop it.

 

Dean’s face crumpled. “I should have known,” he mumbled to his toes, in the most dejected tone Cas had ever heard from him. “I thought that maybe – but of course not. I’m disgusting. Who would ever want to touch me like this? Who would even want to see me like this? God, I’m sorry, I’ll go put something on-”

 

“Dean.”

 

But Dean wouldn’t look at him. He shuffled towards the door and Cas noticed the state of his knees – his stomach lurched with horror.

 

“Dean, wait!” Cas caught his arm and Dean flinched, but didn’t pull away. “I’m not disgusted by you. Don’t ever think that.”

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

“No. Dean, I’m disgusted by whatever - _whoever_ \- did this to you.”

 

Dean looked at him. “You don’t know?” His voice was small, almost trembling.

 

 _Oh Father, he’s scared._ Cas swallowed, wishing that he could lie. “No, Dean, I’m sorry. We don’t know who took you. We searched – for months we searched, but we never found them.”

 

Dean was shaking now. “Then how did I end up in that hospital?”

 

“You were-” Cas felt a surge of nausea. Father, he couldn’t do this. “You were left for dead on the side of a road. A good Samaritan called it in and an ambulance picked you up.”

 

“So I wasn’t wounded in action overseas.”

 

“No,” Cas whispered.

 

“And whoever it was is still out there.”

 

“We’re still searching. Sam is out there right now. We won’t stop until whatever – _whoever_ it is, is no longer a threat to you.”

 

“Is Sam some kind of cop?”

 

“No – it’s – Dean it’s complicated. I can’t explain it to you.”

 

“Because I might remember.”

 

“You were missing for seven months and twelve days, Dean. We have no idea what they did to you. You wiped it from your mind to protect yourself from the trauma of those memories. I don’t want you to have to relive that. Even if – even if it means you never remember me.”

 

Dean swallowed. “Thank you for being honest.”

 

Cas nodded wordlessly.

 

Dean glanced down at the table. “Food’s getting cold,” he noted dully.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I married a man who can cook.”

 

“No, I did. You taught me.”

 

Dean smiled a little. “Well, that’s something anyway. I’m going to go change.”

 

“Dean-”

 

He looked back, questioningly.

 

Cas struggled to find the right words. “I was never attracted to you because of your body.” He winced at how awkward he sounded, but ploughed on ahead anyway. “There was – is – a lot more to you than what you look like.”

 

Dean’s eyes were sad, but he quirked his lips. “Thanks.”

 

They never did end up eating breakfast.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean cleared his throat. “Castiel? Can I ask you a question?”

 

He looked up from his phone and his gaze focused in on Dean. “Of course.”

 

Dean thought maybe that unwavering stare should have been disconcerting, but he found he kind of liked having Castiel’s undivided attention. “I was just wondering if… I had any friends. Before. I mean, Sam’s my brother, and you’re my husband, but was there ever… anyone else?”

 

Now that Dean knew for sure that the army story had been fabricated, he had come to the uncomfortable realisation that the reason no friends had come to visit him couldn’t be because they were ‘on deployment’. Coupled with the fact that he seemed to freak out whenever he ventured into a public space, he was beginning to worry that he had been some sort of hermit.

 

He was hoping that Castiel was going to say ‘Oh, no, they just didn’t want to overwhelm you with so many unfamiliar faces’ or ‘Sam asked them not to come because he was worried they would trigger your memories’. But he didn’t say either of those things.

 

“Not really, no.” It was blunt and to the point. No sugar-coating. No letting him down easy.

 

Dean had been a hermit. A friendless loner whose brother had only stuck around because he had to and whose husband had probably only married him out of pity.

 

Castiel must have seen something in his expression, because he quickly amended, “You used to. But they’re all dead now.”

 

“That… doesn’t really make it better, you know.”

 

“It was never your fault. You often blamed yourself, but our line of work doesn’t leave much room for relationships. The only ones who understand the life are the ones who live it, and very few manage to live it for long.”

 

That was… horrifying. “What is our line of work, exactly?” And why the hell would any sane person choose it as a career if it meant a severely shortened life expectancy?

 

“I can’t tell you that.”

 

“Dammit, Castiel, I swear to _God_ if you don’t start giving me straight answers-”

 

“He doesn’t get involved in this sort of thing.”

 

“What?”

 

“I can’t tell you, Dean. I have already explained why.”

 

“They’re _my_  memories, Castiel, you can’t hold them at ransom!”

 

“I don’t want any money from you. And I wouldn’t tell you if you did offer to pay me.”

 

“That’s not – God, you are _infuriating!”_

 

Castiel frowned a little. “You agreed not to use that word. I know you don’t have any recollection of why, but I’d appreciate it if you refrained from using God’s name in vain-”

 

“What, are you religious or something?”

 

“Or something.”

 

Dean growled low in his throat. “Castiel…”

 

“I know this is frustrating, Dean. But if you would just stop and think, maybe you would realise that we are sparing you from a lot of pain. Right now, you don’t feel any grief for those friends you have lost. I could tell you their names, and they would just be names to you. You don’t remember what they meant to you or how they died. You don’t remember how much harder it was to pick yourself up and keep going every time you lost someone else you cared about. You don’t remember the weight you carried. You don’t remember the tears you refused to shed, or the agony you felt when the walls around your heart began to crack and the emotion showed through. You don’t remember how you tried to distance yourself, or how you couldn’t seem to stop caring about people even though it hurt. You don’t remember how terrified you were that someday you would lose me too. You _don’t remember_ , Dean. You should consider it a blessing.”

 

Dean swallowed. He had naively assumed that the only bad memories he had to worry about were related to physical pain. He had thought he could endure that, if it meant he would remember happier times with his loved ones.

 

He hadn’t thought about grief.

 

The nightmare about Castiel’s death was still fresh in his mind. In reality he barely knew the man – all he really knew was that he was _supposed_ to love him – but the devastation he had felt in that moment when he had realised Castiel was dead… it had been unbearable. It had felt like he was being torn to shreds, like his world was ending, like he would rather plunge that blade into his own chest than accept that Castiel was gone.

 

That had only been a dream. He tried to imagine experiencing grief like that for all of the other people he must have known and loved throughout his lifetime, and he had the sudden, awful feeling that he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

 

Maybe what Sam and Cas were trying to do was a kindness, after all.

 

“But… if they meant something to me… shouldn’t I remember them? It feels like I’m cheapening their deaths, somehow. They’re gone, and I’m living like they never existed. Shouldn’t I grieve for them? Shouldn’t I respect their memories, rather than callously discarding them for the sake of sparing myself pain?”

 

“Dean, you don’t understand. You can’t possibly comprehend how much damage you were carrying before. You made yourself smile because ‘you were alive and that was your job’, but it hurt, every single day it hurt. You don’t want to live like that again. Trust me.”

 

“You’re making it sound like my life before was nothing but pain.”

 

“That isn’t far from the truth.”

 

“I don’t believe it.”

 

“I’m not lying to you, Dean. I won’t tell you everything, but I won’t lie.”

 

“Then tell me this. Did I love you?”

 

Castiel stared at him. “Yes,” he answered finally.

 

“And did you love me?”

 

His voice was quieter this time. “Yes, of course I did.”

 

“Then we were happy.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“I’m not saying it was perfect. But it can’t have been all bad. The pain must have been worth it, or I would have killed myself a long time ago.”

 

Castiel flinched. “Don’t say that. You don’t know – you don’t know how much it scares me. The thought that someday you will remember everything, and it will be too much, and I won’t get to you in time."

 

“Castiel, if it means I remember you, nothing else will matter. I’m sure of it.”

 

“Well I’m not. And I’m not prepared to take that risk.”

 

“I don’t see why it should be up to you!”

 

“Because it is my job to protect you, Dean Winchester, even from yourself.”

 

“Then why didn’t you stop this from happening to me in the first place?!”

 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean regretted them, but it was too late to take them back. He could only watch as they hit Castiel like a freight train.

 

He looked gutted.

 

No, it was worse than that.

 

He looked like Dean had _destroyed_ him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean tried. “I didn’t mean it.”

 

“No,” Castiel exhaled. His eyes weren’t focused on Dean anymore; they were somewhere far away. “No, you’re right. I should have protected you. But I failed, and you suffered for my carelessness.”

 

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”

 

“You never should have been alone that night, Dean. Everything that was done to you… it could have been prevented, if only I… But I can’t change what happened.” He looked back at Dean, and there was steel in his eyes. “I can only do my best to protect you now. I _will not_ hurt you.”

 

Dean couldn’t argue with him, not when he had finally glimpsed behind that stoic mask to the raw pain beneath.

 

“I’ll… stop pushing,” Dean said reluctantly.

 

Some of the tension eased from Castiel’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

 

Dean nodded, even as he felt a lump settle in the pit of his stomach at the thought of being hollow and empty forever.

 

The silence stretched out until Dean couldn’t stand it any longer. “We have to be somewhere,” he said. It was why he had brought up the topic of friends in the first place. “Well, it’s more that I agreed to go, and I would like you to come with me, but I’d understand if you would rather not-”

 

“Where?”

 

“One of the neighbours is having a barbecue. I thought it would be a good way to meet some new people. Uh. Unless I’m cursed?” He didn’t want to be responsible for calling down a plague or something, if it was some sort of unwritten rule that everyone who associated with him had to die.

 

“You’re not cursed.” Castiel’s tone was serious; not a trace of joking in it.

 

“And I’m not, ah,” he flushed with embarrassment but said it anyway, “socially incompetent?”

 

Castiel cocked his head. “Decidedly not. You were often the ‘life of the party’.”

 

Dean’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t imagine drawing that level of attention to himself in a crowd filled with strangers.

 

“Alcohol helps,” Castiel said.

 

He sincerely hoped so. “So, do you want to stay here, or…?” He tried not to betray how anxious he felt, but Castiel’s expression softened.

 

“I’ll go with you.”

 

Dean’s stomach gave a funny jolt at his words. “Thanks.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean was trying very hard not to panic.

 

He focused on breathing, in and out, in and out. But people kept _talking_ to him, asking questions, standing in his space, _looking_ at him. It took every ounce of his self-control not to give this entire endeavour up as a lost cause and get the hell out of dodge.

 

"Where are you from originally?" someone asked. Her name was Laura, or Linda, or maybe Lily? Something like that. He should know, she had just told him, but his mind was drawing a blank. His mind _was_ blank. He didn't know the answer - something so simple, but he had no idea where he was born, or where he was brought up, or where he had been living before he came here. He didn't know anything.

 

"I, uh, moved around a lot," he stammered.

 

“What happened to your hands?” asked Bill (or Bob?) around a mouthful of hotdog. He had ketchup in his moustache. “They’re a right mess.”

 

Dean clenched his fingers around the hideous scar tissue. Yet another thing he didn’t know. It looked like layers and layers of cuts and scrapes; there was barely an inch of palm left unscathed. But he didn’t know how it had happened. “Work accident.”

 

“What do you do for work?” asked Chris. At least, he was pretty sure it was Chris. Chris brought chips, the two words sounded similar. Dean hadn’t realised that it was polite to bring something; they had turned up empty handed.

 

“I’m a mechanic.” Or he would be, starting tomorrow. But he had no idea what he used to do. Something dangerous. Something that had almost killed him.

 

“How long have you been doing that for?”

 

Too many names, too many faces. Was it Richard?

 

“I’ve always liked fixing up cars.” According to Sam, anyway, and Dean thought he was probably telling the truth on that one. Working on the Impala was remarkably soothing.

 

“Is yours the black Chevy?” Beth asked. She was a pretty brunette, but her smile was alarmingly flirtatious and she kept nudging him whenever someone said something funny, like they were sharing the joke privately between them. “She’s a beautiful car. I bet she’s a smooth ride, too.”

 

Devon cleared his throat loudly (wasn’t he her husband? Dean thought they had been introduced together). “So, why haven’t you brought your wife with you, Dean? Worried someone would try to steal her from you?”

 

The sheer number of people was making it hard to think clearly; the question didn’t make any sense. “I don’t have a wife.”

 

Rebecca frowned. “But your ring… Oh, I’m sorry. Did she pass away?”

 

“No, I was never…” He realised where they were getting confused. “My husband is right over there.” He pointed to the food table where Castiel was carefully constructing two burgers. Dean wished he would hurry back already.

 

“ _Husband?/_ Beth gasped, side-stepping so that there was much more space between them.

 

In fact, most of the group had shifted away from him slightly. And everyone was staring.

 

Dean suddenly wondered if he had made a mistake. Should he not have told them that? He had forced Castiel to put the ring back on, but there was no guarantee that he was actually going to stick around. Maybe these people could tell that there was something off with their relationship. Maybe they didn’t seem like a well-suited couple. Maybe they thought that Castiel could do better. Maybe they had noticed that Dean was living alone up until yesterday and assumed the marriage was on the brink of disaster. Maybe they were right. Dean didn’t know, and maybe Castiel wouldn’t have wanted them to know, and he may have just screwed everything up even further-

 

“Well, I suppose it’s legal now,” Rebecca said. “You two must have been happy when the bill passed.”

 

Dean had no idea what she was talking about.

 

“Did you propose straight away?” Linda asked. “Or – I suppose he might have been the one to propose.” She tittered, an uncomfortable little laugh.

 

Bill snorted. “Are you asking who wears the pants?”

 

Dean was definitely missing something, and it didn’t help that he had no idea which of them had proposed. Had it been romantic? Emotional? Inevitable, or a surprise? He didn’t know, and _god_ he was so sick of not knowing. It felt like the memory should _be there_ , like it was somewhere just beyond his reach and if he only stretched for it he could remember, but he kept coming up empty. Everything in his mind was blank, void, and they kept asking questions and he couldn’t keep up this pretence much longer-

 

“Sorry, Dean, I was waiting for the bacon to cook,” Castiel said. He slipped in beside Dean and handed him a plate. The burger was stacked high with two slices of cheese, two beef patties and two layers of bacon, positively dripping with grease. It was just how he liked it – and Castiel had known without asking. Because he knew Dean, far better than he knew himself right now. It was amazing and horribly unfair at the same time.

 

But all Dean cared about right now was taking a massive bite of his burger so his mouth would be obnoxiously full and he couldn’t answer any more questions. “Thank you,” he said, and then chomped down on the most delicious taste sensation he had ever experienced. His eyes widened, and Castiel smiled at him.

 

“So you two are married,” Beth said. “To each other.”

 

Dean froze, worried about how Castiel would react.

 

“Yes,” he said simply. The shift in his stance was subtle, but Dean felt the gentle pressure against his arm that meant Castiel was leaning into him. It wasn’t as overt as putting an arm around his waist or holding his hand or kissing him, but it was a clear statement of comfortable intimacy.

 

Devon’s mouth twisted with disgust. “You’re not going to go flaunting it all over the neighbourhood, are you? We don’t need rainbow flags and gay pride parades polluting our street.”

 

Dean felt Castiel stiffen and the piece he had been missing from this conversation finally clicked. _Gay_.

 

It hadn’t seemed odd. Dean had worked out that Castiel was his husband; obviously, he was gay. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he might be attracted to women too, because Castiel had been the only person he could think about.

 

But even if gay marriage was legal now (Rebecca had mentioned some bill that was passed?) apparently it wasn’t normal, and apparently some people still had a problem with it.

 

Dean had no idea how to respond.

 

“Don’t worry, we won’t contaminate you,” Castiel said icily.

 

“See that you don’t,” Devon snapped. “This was a nice neighbourhood before you two fairies turned up-”

 

“Devon, mate!” Jeremy clapped Devon on the shoulder. “Your turn on the grill.”

 

Devon shot one last glare at them before he stormed off to take Jeremy’s place manning the barbecue, muttering under his breath. Beth shifted uncomfortably before she made some excuse about tossing the salad and hurried after him.

 

Jeremy continued on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “So, Richard, you said you had just opened up a restaurant. How’s business?”

 

Just like that, the tension dissipated and the focus shifted away from Dean and Castiel. Dean gave their host a grateful smile and Jeremy winked at him before asking about the menu choices at ‘Rich Flavours’.

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said in an undertone. “I should have warned you.”

 

“Are a lot of people like that?”

 

“Unfortunately. Many of them like to claim their objections are religious, but God is far too busy sitting on a beach somewhere drinking Margaritas to care who marries who. They just can’t stand people who are different.”

 

“Did we face this kind of problem a lot?”

 

“We didn’t advertise our relationship in public to avoid it becoming an issue. You didn’t want to have to ‘beat the crap out of those bigoted bastards’.”

 

Dean smirked and jerked a thumb towards the man at the grill who was glaring in their direction. “You reckon we could take him?”

 

“Without breaking a sweat,” Castiel said.

 

Dean laughed and Castiel smiled at him. He felt better.

 

He polished off his burger and found that talking to Rebecca and Chris was easier with Castiel beside him. He seemed to have a strategy that was simple yet effective; Castiel asked _them_ questions which didn’t leave much room for them to ask questions in return. It was a relief not to be the centre of attention, and after a while Dean realised he was actually enjoying himself.

 

“Here, buddy, have a beer.”

 

The voice came out of nowhere and there was cold glass touching his hand. Dean jerked backwards with a startled cry. He knocked the drink and the contents spilled all over him, and he stepped wrong and his knee crumpled and suddenly he was on his ass in the dirt.

 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Jeremy said. He reached out a hand to help Dean stand but Dean could only stare up at him in frozen horror.

 

The air he needed wouldn't come. His chest heaved but oxygen couldn't get through the tightness in his throat and oh _god_  he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. The world was pressing in on all sides and he could feel eyes watching him and it was getting dark, so dark, he couldn't see, he didn't know what was coming but it was going to _hurt_  and he wanted to run but he couldn't, there was no escaping, none, he was trapped here forever-

 

"-ean! _Dean_!"

 

The voice should have been familiar but he couldn't remember who it belonged to and he _should_ , he should remember, god, why couldn't he remember?

 

"Dean, breathe."

 

 _I can't!_ he tried to say. But no one could hear him, he could scream until his vocal chords bled and no one would hear him.

 

"Dean, I'm right here. You're okay."

 

Dean just shook his head helplessly. He was going to die. He was going to die here alone, all alone, and no one would ever find the body...

 

"Dean, it's Cas. I'm here. We found you. You're safe."

 

There was a warm pressure on his shoulder. A hand. Resting where a handprint scar used to be.

 

Dean gasped.

 

His lungs filled and he started coughing. The darkness cleared and the panic receded, and he discovered that he was sitting in someone's backyard with a crowd of on-lookers staring down at him.

 

"Dean."

 

He met clear blue eyes. They were staring, too, but with concern, not curiosity. And Castiel wasn’t towering over him, he had crouched down to his level.

 

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked.

 

Dean nodded, but he wasn't. He was humiliated and he felt sick.

 

Castiel took his hands and gently pulled him to his feet. "Let's get you home."

 

Dean let Cas make their excuses. He couldn't bear to talk to anyone or even look at anyone; he kept his gaze fixed on his shoes and shuffled behind Cas as he led the way out.

 

Their house was silent. Dean winced when the door closed behind them.

 

"Dean..."

 

Dean whirled on him. "What the hell is wrong with me?!" He knew he was yelling and he knew it was uncalled for but he was upset and angry and he knew which emotion he preferred.

 

Castiel's eyes were sad. "You had a panic attack."

 

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean snapped. "But _why_? Jeremy just handed me a beer, for god's sake! And now look at me!" He spread his arms, indicating the wet fabric that was clinging to his frame. "I look like a wet dog. A kicked, wet dog."

 

He felt a surge of nausea and made a break for the sink, hurling up his burger and then graduating to dry heaves.

 

When his stomach settled, he became aware of the gentle hand that was rubbing soothing circles on his back.

 

"It's okay, Dean."

 

"It's really not. I'm freaking out about something I can't even remember."

 

Castiel dropped his hand. "I wish I knew what to say."

 

Dean sighed. "Me too."

 

ooOOoo


	10. Chapter 10

The barbecue had been a complete disaster and Dean had half a mind to never leave the house again.

 

But at half past seven in the morning, Castiel was knocking on his bedroom door.

 

"Wake up, Dean. You need to start getting ready or you'll be late for work."

 

Dean hadn't been sleeping. He had spent the first half of the night tossing and turning restlessly, and the second half just staring up at the ceiling.

 

He was exhausted, and not just physically. The last thing he wanted to do was get out of bed and attempt to socialise with other people again.

 

"Not going," he said, and turned over to bury his face in his pillow.

 

He heard the sound of the door opening.

 

"Dean."

 

"No."

 

He felt the bed dip under Castiel's weight as he sat down on the edge. Dean waited, expecting some kind of lecture or inspirational speech.

 

"What do you want?" he asked instead.

 

Dean rolled over to look at him. "What?"

 

"This is your life. I'm not going to tell you how to live it. If you want to stay here, I'll bring you breakfast and find some way of topping up your bank account. But it depends on what it is you really want."

 

Damn.

 

Reluctantly, Dean dragged himself into a sitting position. "I know what I _don't_ want. I don't want to have to hide in here for the rest of my life.” If he gave up this job opportunity now, he might never get another chance. He would have to live off the money Sam gave him, without any knowledge of where it was actually coming from.  And if he didn’t force himself to do step out into the world when it was for something important, it would be far too easy to just never try again.

 

He sighed as he reached the inevitable conclusion. “I have to go to work, don't I?"

 

Castiel shrugged. "It’s up to you. Many people find that having a job gives them a sense of purpose."

 

“Did I have that, before?”

 

There was a pause as Castiel debated whether or not to answer him. “Yes,” he said finally. “Your job was very important.”

 

“And now that I’m not doing it?”

 

The silence was heavy. “The world can’t ask any more of you, Dean. You have given enough.”

 

Dean considered asking again – who he was, what he used to do, why they were so determined that he shouldn’t remember.

 

But his break from reality yesterday had felt far too much like a flashback, and he had no desire to experience that level of terror again. There was a wordless fear gnawing in his gut at the thought of what other horrors his memories could hold, and maybe he was a coward but he was beginning to think he would rather not face them head on.

 

Maybe he didn’t need to know who he had been before. Maybe he could just take the easy road and be Dean the mechanic. “I guess my life is going to be different from here on out.”

 

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly. “I think it is.”

 

Dean swung his legs off the bed. At the warning twinge from his knees, he felt the pessimism settle back in. "Assuming that Ray doesn’t fire me within the day," he muttered.

 

"Why would he?"

 

Honestly, Dean couldn’t work out why Ray had hired him in the first place. "It wouldn’t take much. All I have to do is screw something up, or punch him out if he startles me, or have a panic attack in front of a customer, and he'll want me gone."

 

"You're a good worker, Dean, and you know cars. You've 'got this'." He did air quotes as he said it and something fluttered in Dean's stomach. That gesture felt... familiar, somehow.

 

_"My 'people skills' are 'rusty'."_

 

Dean could almost hear Castiel saying those words, but maybe he was just hearing his own thoughts in Castiel's voice.

 

"If yesterday is any indication, I'm not very good at the whole interacting with people thing."

 

"That's not true. You managed to maintain a conversation with almost a dozen people at the same time."

 

Dean huffed a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah. And then I alienated everyone and turned into a freak show."

 

"The only people you alienated were the homophobes, and they're not worth your time. Having a panic attack does not make you a freak, Dean. A lot of people have anxiety."

 

“At the very least it makes me a liability.”

 

“You could always pre-warn Ray that you have PTSD.”

 

Dean didn’t recognise the term.

 

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Castiel elaborated. “Your symptoms are consistent with the condition.”

 

“Great. So now I’m a certifiable head case.”

 

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, Dean. Even the most courageous soldiers can be impacted by PTSD. Ray will understand. Your resume says you were in the army, and most people hold a great deal of respect for veterans.”

 

“I wasn’t in the army, though. I don’t deserve it.”

 

“Dean Winchester, there is no one who deserves it more.”

 

There was something in Castiel’s eyes that caused a warm feeling to spread through his chest. Dean realised it was admiration, not for who he was now, but for the man he had been.

 

Dean deflated. He wanted to ask if Castiel could be proud of him, too, but his greatest achievement so far was mustering the will to get out of bed. Hardly the stuff of legends.

 

“I’m going to be late,” he said.

 

Castiel left him to get ready and bid him an awkward goodbye at the door.

 

“You’ll be here when I get back, right?”

 

Castiel hesitated. “Your brother called. He needs my help with a – work thing.”

 

Dean’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “So you’re leaving?”

 

He looked guilty. “I’ll come back. It’s just – this is important.”

 

“No, yeah, of course. You gotta do what you gotta do.” After all, Dean couldn’t expect Castiel’s life to grind to a halt just because his own had.

 

“You’ll be fine, Dean, don’t worry.”

 

He plastered on a smile. “I’m not worried.”

 

“I don’t know how long this will take, so do not be concerned if you don’t see me tonight. I promise that I will return as soon as I am able to.”

 

Dean felt a cold lump settle in his chest. “Sure.”

 

Castiel waivered, evidently waiting for Dean to leave before heading off himself. “Ray will be expecting you soon.”

 

Dean let go of the doorknob and stepped backwards out onto the porch. “I guess I’ll see you, then.”

 

“You will.”

 

Dean wished that he could trust that Castiel was telling him the truth. But this was the man who had left him alone in that hospital room, and who was only here now because Dean had cornered him in an alley. If he let Castiel leave, he might never see him again.

 

“Good luck with… whatever it is you’re doing.”

 

Castiel nodded his thanks. “Have a good day at work.”

 

Dean wondered if they had ever been the sort of married couple that gave each other goodbye kisses at the door.

 

Instead, Castiel gave him a little wave and Dean’s answering smile was more like a grimace. He allowed his gaze to linger for just a few more seconds as he studied the details of Castiel’s face and committed them to memory. Then he turned away and reluctantly got into his car.

 

The purr of her engine wasn’t as comforting this time. He couldn’t help but glance at the empty passenger seat.

 

Dean realised belatedly that he knew the answer to Castiel’s question.

 

_"What do you want?”_

 

In the end, it was simple. Dean wanted his husband to be there when he got home, every night for the rest of forever. He wanted them to be happy together.

 

But he hadn’t asked the same question in return.

 

What if what Castiel wanted was to leave and never come back?

 

There was nothing Dean could do to stop him.

 

For the rest of the day his hands worked on autopilot; they seemed to know what they were doing more than his head did anyway. Thankfully Ray accepted PTSD as a valid excuse for his pre-occupation – he said something along the lines of “thank you for your service, son” and left him to tinker with the engine of a Cadillac that had seen better days.

 

He did his job, and afterwards Ray told him he had done well, but his mind was elsewhere, thinking about Castiel and wondering if he was ever going to come home.

 

Dean didn’t see him that night.

 

He knew that he desperately needed to sleep, but all he could do was pray that his husband would keep his promise. He couldn’t remember if he believed in God or not, but it was comforting to think that there could be angels out there watching over him.

 

He waited. And he hoped.

 

ooOOoo


	11. Chapter 11

The buzz of anticipation kept Dean awake and functioning during his shift on Tuesday, but when he arrived home to find that Castiel still wasn’t back yet all of his energy drained away in an instant.

 

He slumped down on the couch and exhaustion swiftly dragged him under.

 

His dreams were filled with weird glowing symbols and blood and black goo. Castiel was there, looking at Dean with sad blue eyes, apologising and promising to redeem himself. But he didn’t keep his promise.

 

_Castiel waded out into the lake. Dean was on the bank, too far away to reach him in time. Before Dean had the chance to call out to him, beg him to come back, his head vanished beneath the water. A stain of black spread beneath the surface before disappearing as if it had never been._

_Dean felt a deep sense of foreboding, but it was nothing compared to the grief that threatened to drown him._

_A tan trench-coat washed up on the shore. Dean pulled it from the water. He knew what it meant. Cas was gone._

 

Dean woke gasping. He was mortified to discover that his cheeks were wet.

 

He tried to tell himself that it was just a dream. Castiel was fine. He was alive, he was right here-

 

Only he wasn’t.

 

Dean realised that maybe his subconscious was trying to make him face the reality that Castiel had left and wasn’t coming back.

 

Broken promises. He had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be the first time.

 

Dean wanted to call Sam and demand that he tell it to him straight, but it was the middle of the night and Dean knew he was in no fit state to be given confirmation that Castiel wanted out. He had to cling to the hope that Castiel had just been delayed by whatever work they were doing or he’d probably have a complete mental breakdown.

 

It had to be unhealthy, being so dependent on someone else that the thought of living without them was unbearable. But he couldn’t help it. Castiel was the only thing he knew for sure about his past; without him he had nothing. He _was_ nothing.

 

If Castiel didn’t come back, it would destroy him. And there was nothing he could do about it.

 

Resigned to his fate, Dean heaved his lethargic body off the couch and plodded into his bedroom. He collapsed on top of the covers, knowing that his mind would conjure images of Castiel to torment him with while he slept. He was too tired to fight it.

 

But when he woke up to the first rays of sunlight streaming through the gap in his curtains, he felt bizarrely well-rested. He snuggled contentedly into the solid warmth at his back-

 

-and froze in shock.

 

There was someone in the bed with him.

 

Heart in his throat, Dean hardly dared to breathe as he turned over.

 

He was stunned to discover that Castiel was curled up beside him, snoring softly. He was still fully dressed, with his shoe-clad feet dangling off the edge of the bed, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, his coat skewed awkwardly around him and his rucked-up shirt revealing a thin band of warm skin. His face was turned into the pillow and his hair was sticking out in every direction.

 

He was beautiful.

 

Dean reached out a trembling hand and laid it gently on the top of his head, needing concrete proof that this wasn’t some figment of his imagination. Castiel nuzzled into his palm and a small sound escaped his lips, but he didn’t wake. Dean slipped his fingers through the loose strands of hair, marvelling at the fact that Castiel was really here.

 

He had come home.

 

The hope that had been dwindling rapidly flared back into full flame.

 

Dean dared to slot his body in closer and every atom of his being hummed with contentment. For the first time since he had woken up in that hospital bed, he felt like everything was as it should be.

 

He exhaled a happy sigh and let his eyes fall closed.

 

“Dean?”

 

Castiel was pulling away from him and Dean wanted to wrap his arms around his waist so he couldn’t go anywhere. But if he pushed the boundaries Castiel would retreat even further and that was the last thing Dean wanted.

 

“Morning,” he mumbled, trying to sound like he was still half asleep. Maybe Castiel would decide it was okay to cuddle for a little longer.

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

 

Dean caught his hand. “I don’t mind.” He opened his eyes, wanting to drink in the sight of those baby blues.

 

Instead he was confronted with a mess of battered and bruised flesh.

 

Alarmed, Dean jerked upright and dragged Castiel up with him so he could get a better look at his injuries. “What the hell happened to you?!”

 

“I’m fine, Dean-”

 

“It looks like someone tried to smash your face in!”

 

“The – uh, job – was more difficult than we anticipated. But I’m fine, really…”

 

Dean tugged him towards the bathroom and forced him to look in the mirror. “That is not what ‘fine’ looks like.”

 

Castiel’s reflection looked back at him, and suddenly Dean was staring at another image in another mirror.

 

He heard the sound of fists pounding into flesh, bones cracking under the onslaught. He felt the hot gush of blood against his knuckles.

 

_“Dean. Stop.”_

He wouldn’t stop. Cas wasn’t fighting back but he wouldn’t stop. He drove a knee into his gut, threw him across the room, slammed his head against a desk. There were smears of blood left on the wood. Cas collapsed but Dean went after him. He flipped him over, seized a fistful of his shirt. Held a blade poised over his heart.

_“No. Dean. Please.”_

Dean staggered backwards.

 

“Dean?”

 

“That didn’t happen. Tell me that didn’t happen!”

 

“Dean, what is it? What’s wrong?”

 

“Did I do that to you?”

 

“What? No, Dean it was a – it happened on the job.”

 

“Not now. Before. Did I – did I _attack_ you?”

 

Castiel’s expression immediately became guarded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Oh my god. I did. Why the hell- god, Cas, that’s not okay! How could you still want to be with me after I-”

 

“Dean, you’re remembering something out of context. You can’t-”

 

“I hit you! God, I tried to _kill you_. That is so messed up, what the fuck was wrong with me? What kind of monster was I? No wonder you don’t want me to remember who I was before-”

 

“No, Dean, it’s not like that. You were a good person.”

 

“I beat my boyfriend bloody!”

 

“We weren’t actually dating at that point-”

 

“Like that matters! I hurt you. I did it deliberately. I _liked_ it.” He felt sick. He was disgusted with himself, with who he had been.

 

“Dean, you don’t understand. You were under the influence of – uh. A drug. It wasn’t your fault-”

 

“So, what, now you’re telling me I was a drug addict?”

 

“No. Dean, just – stop. There were extenuating circumstances. We were okay. You have to trust me on that.”

 

“I don’t think there is anything that could possibly justify what I did to you.”

 

“Dean, I have dealt out my fair share of hurt. We’ve been through a few rough patches, but we came out the other side stronger for it.”

 

Dean shook his head. He could still feel the blood lust that had burned through his veins.

 

“I don’t want to remember,” he said. He had thought he wanted his memories back, but he was wrong. If he had been the kind of person who could do something like that to his best friend, then the world was better off with that part of him being dead and buried. “I won’t be that guy again. I won’t ever hurt you like that, you hear me?”

 

“Dean…”

 

“This is what you wanted, right? For me not to try to remember?”

 

“I – guess.”

 

“Good. We’re on the same page. You may have married a dick, but this time around I’m going to actually _earn_ it. If you’re willing to give me another chance.”

 

“Dean, I loved you without reservation. You weren’t perfect, but neither was I. We fit.”

 

“And we will again. Better this time. Please, Castiel. Let me try.”

 

There was a beat of hesitation before Castiel finally gave in. “Alright.”

 

Dean nodded firmly. “Okay. I have to go to work, but I’m taking you out for dinner tonight.”

 

His smile was a little uncertain, but he wasn’t saying no.

 

Dean felt a surge of relief. He squelched the remnants of his flashback, determined that this was going to be the start of something new.

 

“I’ll see you when I get home,” he said.

 

“I’ll be here,” Castiel replied. This time, Dean believed him.

 

ooOOoo


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was nervous.

 

He straightened his tie for the seventh time and ran his fingers through his hair again. He couldn’t decide whether he should go for a messy sex-me-up look or for smooth and sophisticated, but he was wearing his best suit and he had picked out a blue tie that matched the colour of Castiel’s eyes. He was even wearing cologne. Maybe it was too much, but tonight was important.

 

As far as he was concerned, this was their first date. He didn’t know how their real first date has gone – that memory was lost with all the others. But he wasn’t the same person anymore. He was Dean 2.0, and he was going to make this night one to remember.

 

If he was worried that the date wouldn’t measure up to Castiel’s past experiences, he wasn’t going to let it show. He was going to be suave and confident and he was going to win Castiel over.

 

He hoped.

 

Checking his reflection one last time, Dean finally emerged from the bathroom. “You ready?” he called.

 

Castiel stepped out into the hallway, and Dean’s jaw dropped.

 

He had only ever seen Castiel in his business suit and trenchcoat. He hadn’t even realised that he owned any other clothes.

 

“Damn,” he exhaled.

 

Navy-blue slacks were a snug fit around his hips and perfectly accentuated his long legs. His shirt was crisp white, ironed to wrinkle-free perfection and complimented by silver cufflinks at his wrists. He had forgone the jacket and was wearing a navy-blue vest that unashamedly drew attention to his broad chest, trim waist and strong arms. And he wasn’t wearing a tie. He had left the top three buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the column of his throat and the curve of his collarbone.

 

For a moment, Dean forgot all about their dinner plans. He wanted to start nibbling at the vulnerable skin beneath Castiel’s jaw and make his way slowly downwards, removing every obstacle in his path until Castiel was laid out before him, eyes blown wide, legs trembling, moaning his name.

 

“Dean?”

 

He licked his lips unconsciously, dragging his gaze up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Huh?”

 

An amused smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t we have reservations?”

 

“Oh.” Dean flushed. “Right. Yeah.”

 

Castiel chuckled. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Dean Winchester.”

 

He was sure the tips of his ears were burning a bright red. To hide his embarrassment, he hurried into the kitchen and retrieved the single rose he had bought.

 

He held it out to Castiel. “This is for you.”

 

Castiel’s fingers brushed his as he reached for the stem, sending a tingle up his arm. “Thank you.” The look in his eyes was an incredible mixture of surprise and fondness. He gently touched the delicate petals, marvelling at the simple beauty of the rose, and Dean’s heart swelled with an emotion he couldn’t hope to describe.

 

“We should go,” he said hoarsely.

 

He led the way and made sure to hold the passenger door open for Castiel before running around to his own side.

 

“Uh, you want some tunes?”

 

“I thought the driver picks the music?”

 

Dean shrugged a little. The truth was, he didn’t want to accidentally play something that was too out of character, or something that he should have known Castiel hated. “I want to know what kind of songs you like to listen to.”

 

Castiel reached for the radio, flicking through a few stations before settling on one that was playing some gentle jazz. “I like this,” he said.

 

It was something real, something true about his husband that he was actually allowed to know. Dean tucked the precious knowledge away in his mind and started the car.

 

They wound their way through the town and then headed out onto the open road. It felt right, having Castiel in the seat next to him. The Impala’s engine was a soothing rumble beneath them and the night sky above was strewn with stars.

 

“I love driving,” Dean said. “It’s like the whole world is stretching out before you. And I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about this car. It feels like… a part of me, somehow.”

 

Castiel smiled softly. “You and your brother grew up in this car. She’s your home.”

 

Home.

 

Dean glanced in the rear-view mirror, and for a moment he glimpsed two boys in the backseat. The younger had his head resting in his brother’s lap and was fast asleep. The elder was gently stroking his hair and humming softly.

 

“Hey Jude,” Dean murmured.

 

Castiel looked at him in surprise. “What did you say?”

 

“It’s a song. I think… I used to sing it to Sammy while he was sleeping.”

 

There was a long pause. “Yes,” Castiel said finally. “It was your mother’s favourite Beatles song. She would sing it instead of a lullaby.”

 

Dean had a fleeting impression of a woman with long blonde hair leaning over his bed to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

 

There was a lump in his throat and he had to swipe the back of his hand across his eyes so he could see the road properly.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to remember.”

 

“No… I wouldn’t begrudge you those memories, Dean. They’re important to you.”

 

Dean glanced sideways at him. _You’re important to me,_ he wanted to say. But instead he changed the topic. “We’re nearly there.”

 

He had done his research online and found a fancy restaurant on the outskirts of a nearby city. After what had happened with the neighbours, he thought it would be safer to go on a date somewhere where no one would recognise them.

 

He pulled into the parking lot and rushed around to Castiel’s side to open the door for him again.

 

“You’re being very chivalrous,” Castiel commented, even as he accepted Dean’s offered hand to help him out of the car.

 

“Is that… okay?”

 

“Yes, it’s fine. Different.”

 

Dean didn’t know what to make of that. Castiel had fallen in love with the old him (though Dean had yet to work out why), so Dean didn’t know if he would have more luck trying to be like his old self or trying to be someone totally new.

 

“After you,” he said.

 

The restaurant was almost intimidating in how high-class it appeared, but the pristine table cloths, glistening wine glasses and soft candle-light seemed like the perfect romantic setting. There was even jazz music playing in the background.

 

“May I help you, sirs?” The waiter was wearing a tuxedo and carried himself with poise. He didn’t so much as bat an eyelid at the sight of two men entering the restaurant together.

 

“We have a reservation for the Winchesters.”

 

“Of course. Right this way.”

 

The waiter practically glided across the floor. Dean found himself concentrating hard on minimising his limp and prayed fervently that his knees wouldn’t give out. He could just imagine bringing down a neatly-laid table in a deafening crash of glass and silverware; their date would be over before it began. But they made it to their table without incident. The waiter pulled Castiel’s chair out for him before Dean could, so he just settled gingerly into his own.

 

“May I offer you sirs a drink to begin with?”

 

Dean’s mind went blank. He had learned the names of a few beer brands, but he didn’t know wine.

 

“A bottle of your house red, please,” Castiel said.

 

The waiter bowed slightly and withdrew.

 

“Have we ever been anywhere like this before?” Dean asked. He felt a little out of place, even though their attire matched what the other patrons were wearing.

 

“No. You generally preferred back-road diners.”

 

Dean swallowed. “Oh. Is it-?”

 

“It is lovely, Dean. A new experience for both of us.”

 

Dean smiled at that. This would become a memory that they could both share.

 

They were quiet for a few minutes as they studied the menu. Dean eventually decided on the eye fillet steak and Castiel chose the salmon. The waiter came to pour their wine and take their orders, and then they were left alone.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “So, usually this would be the part where we try to get to know each other better. Except, you already know all about me, and there’s a lot about you that you’re not willing to tell me. So I thought of some really random questions that we could both answer. Should be fun.” At least he hoped it would be; he had spent his lunch break doing research for tonight and the ‘google’ search engine had led him to a list of first-date conversation starters that sounded somewhat promising.

 

“Alright.”

 

“Cool. Um, so, if you were stranded on a desert island, what is the one thing would you bring with you?”

 

“With the intention of staying there long-term, or trying to leave?”

 

“Either.”

 

Castiel thought about it for a moment. “You.”

 

“Me?”

 

Castiel nodded. “Sam would come looking for you, so we wouldn’t be stranded long. And in the meantime, your survival skills would be very useful.”

 

“What survival skills?”

 

That set Castiel back for a beat, but he recovered quickly. “Ah, well, you have taught me enough that we’d probably be okay. And your company would make the time pass far more pleasurably until our rescue arrived.”

 

Dean felt his cheeks warm and took a sip of his wine to cover it.

 

“What about you? What would you bring?”

 

“Oh. I was going to go with ‘a boat’ but I like your answer better.”

 

Castiel chuckled. “A boat. Very practical.”

 

“What’s your favourite way to travel?”

 

“Flying,” Castiel said immediately.

 

Dean wrinkled his nose. “You’re willing to risk your life in one of those-” Dammit, he couldn’t remember the name “-those crazy winged contraptions?”

 

“You never have liked aeroplanes,” Castiel said. “Sam told me you only went on one once, and you had to hum Metallica to stay calm.”

 

That much hadn’t changed, then. “I don’t like the idea of being hundreds of meters above the ground, relying on a man-made metal machine to keep me from plummeting to my death.”

 

Castiel hummed his agreement. “Wings are better.”

 

“If we could have our own wings, that would be pretty cool. I might not mind flying then.”

 

Castiel pressed his lips together and diverted his gaze for a moment. “Your favourite mode of transport is driving.”

 

Dean huffed a laugh. “No surprises there. Okay, what’s your favourite animal?”

 

“All animals are beautiful and amazing. But I like monkeys. They’re clever.”

 

_"Is it really necessary to test cosmetics on them? I mean, how important is lipstick to you, Dean?”_

 

Dean blinked. Had that been – a fragment of a memory?

 

“I also like bees. Strictly speaking, they’re insects, not animals, but I enjoy watching them. They are a fascinating reflection of the an- of the culture I come from. There are no individuals in a hive, except for the queen. The rest of them work together for the common good. They work hard, they’re dedicated, but none of them really have the chance to think for themselves, and breaking away is suicide.”

 

Dean frowned a little, aware that Castiel wasn’t just talking about bees. “Sounds like an oppressive environment for a kid.”

 

Castiel shrugged. “I didn’t know any different. Until I met you.”

 

“You… gave up your family for me?”

 

“You became my family. I have never had cause to regret my decision.”

 

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to ask more, but Castiel’s family sounded like a painful topic.

 

“Uh. So, my favourite animal is probably a lion. Nobody messes with a lion.” And lions weren’t afraid of anything, unlike Dean. A lion wouldn’t have a panic attack over nothing.

 

“I didn’t know that,” Castiel said thoughtfully.

 

Dean tried to think of a more harmless question. “Cake or pie?”

 

Castiel laughed. “I have to say pie or you will get mad at me.”

 

“I like pie?”

 

“You _love_ pie.”

 

“Huh. What’s your favourite food?”

 

“I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It’s a good combination of flavours.”

 

“Well, here’s hoping that the food here measures up, huh?”

 

Castiel laughed again and Dean decided he loved that sound. He wanted to hear Castiel laugh more often.

 

Throughout dinner (which tasted _amazing_ ), they sipped their wine and Dean continued to ask random questions. He laughed at Castiel’s response to what he was bad at (“Interrogating cats”) and what food he didn’t like (“Spaghetti. No matter what strategies I use, it refuses to stay on my fork long enough for me to get it into my mouth”) He enjoyed hearing Castiel’s most embarrassing moment (he was kicked out of a brothel) and about his most disastrous attempt at cooking (“I still don’t understand how the pancake mixture ended up on the ceiling”). He nearly fell off his chair at Castiel’s re-enactment of trying to contain a toddler hyped up on stolen coffee (“You were trying to talk to the mother and she just passed me this child and afterwards I was very surprised that I had any hair left on my head”). The best part was how Castiel became increasingly relaxed as the evening wore on. He smiled more openly, laughed out loud and kept touching Dean in little, affectionate ways.

 

By the time they finished dessert, Dean realised that loving Castiel wasn’t just in his head anymore. He was beginning to understand why he had married him. He wasn’t just caring and considerate, he was a delightful mixture of serious and soulful and adorably ridiculous. He was funny without even trying, and when he was trying it was either with sneaky witticisms or the lamest jokes Dean had ever heard. He ate his meal with a look of extreme concentration on his face, like the food was a puzzle he had to solve, but zoned out completely when he tasted the vanilla bean panna cotta. And his _eyes_. They were entrancing, the way they sparkled with humour or crinkled with fondness, the depth of knowledge and memory they contained, and how they looked at Dean like he was the most important thing in all of creation.

 

Dean didn’t know for sure, but he thought he might be falling in love.

 

Before long they were the only two people left in the restaurant and they reluctantly decided to call it a night. They paid for their meals with Sam’s credit card and headed back to the car.

 

On the drive home, Dean let his hand rest on the seat between them. Castiel’s fingers curled around his own.

 

And Dean discovered what happiness felt like.


	13. Chapter 13

Cas felt like he was cheating on his husband.

 

There were moments that would catch him off guard – Dean would say something, or do something, and Cas would smile. But a second later he would remember, and then he would feel guilty, like he had done something wrong.

 

This Dean was not the same as his Dean. His Dean was gone, along with everything they had shared together. They had struggled and fought, cut and bled, pushed through and conquered. Their road had been long and painful but worth it in the end. They had fallen in love an inch at a time, and Cas wouldn’t trade their story for anything.

 

And yet here he was, living his life like none of that had ever happened.

 

His Dean was dead. Cas should have been mourning him. He should have been inconsolable. Dean was his everything and it had all been taken away and if he had truly loved him then he should have been destroyed by his loss.

 

It was an insult to his memory to just move on. He shouldn’t be searching for happiness somewhere else. He shouldn’t be falling in love again.

 

This Dean was different. He looked the same, if a little more scarred, and some aspects of his personality bore a resemblance to who he once had been. But Dean Winchester was the righteous man who had sold his soul for his brother, who had been to Hell and back again, who had given up his chance at a normal life to protect the innocent from monsters that stalked the night, who had sacrificed so much and had lost even more, who was beaten down but always stood back up, who was tired of the fight but never surrendered.

 

His experiences had shaped who he was. Without those memories, he could never truly be Dean Winchester.

 

But Cas was falling for him anyway.

 

Because this Dean was sweet. He was romantic. He went out of his way to do things that would make Cas happy.

 

One morning he asked Cas how he liked his coffee. Every morning after that there was a fresh cup of steaming black coffee, with two sugars, waiting for him when he woke up.

 

Every evening, Dean would leave his bedroom door open when he went to bed – an unspoken invitation for Cas to join him if he wanted to. But Cas didn’t and Dean never pushed it. He did notice that sleeping on the couch was giving Cas neck and shoulder pain, though. He spent more than an hour one afternoon massaging out the worst of the knots, and the next day while he was at work Cas opened the door to a delivery man who had brought him his own bed. Dean put it together in the study after dragging the large desk out so that Cas could have his own space, and he never objected when Cas closed the door.

 

On the weekend, Dean took Cas to the local park. Cas could tell that he was tense and anxious with so many people around, but he found a little hideaway in a copse of trees and set out a picnic blanket for them. He had packed lunch – assorted berries, cheese and crackers, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and enormous chocolate chip cookies for dessert. He used a napkin to wipe a trace of jelly from Castiel's mouth and his gaze lingered on his lips before he hurriedly looked away.

 

There were other moments like that, where Cas could tell that Dean wanted to kiss him but was holding back. During quiet dinners at home, or when they were watching television together, they would look at each other and suddenly find themselves in much closer proximity than they had intended. The world would narrow down to those scant inches of air between them, and Dean would unconsciously run his tongue along his bottom lip as he gazed into Castiel’s eyes. It would have been easy to close the distance, to press their lips together and finally feel like they were back where they belonged. But Cas remembered Dean, his Dean, and he pulled away each time. Dean hid his disappointment well, always returning to the conversation or the show they were watching as though nothing had happened.

 

The little gestures continued. Dean planted bee-friendly flowers in the garden. He kept the radio tuned to a jazz station and played it unobtrusively in the background while they were eating. He ironed Castiel’s shirts. He flipped the channel over to a documentary about monkeys when he could have been watching a car show instead. He took Cas out for ice-cream on a hot day and stayed in the little boutique parlour until Cas had finished, doing everything in his power to mask the panic in his eyes when the door kept ringing behind him and the buzz of people became increasingly louder. And he was patient, unfailingly patient, even though he was expressing his feelings with everything except words and Cas remained unreadable.

 

Without being asked, Dean gave Castiel's car a tune-up. “We don’t want you breaking down when you're halfway home,” he said. He never offered a word of protest when Cas left to join Sam on a hunt, despite not knowing where he was going or what he was doing or when he'd be back. He just trusted that Cas would return to him.

 

Strangely enough, the house he shared with Dean was beginning to feel more like home than the bunker did. Cas went back there with Sam sometimes to clean up after a hunt (he didn’t want to scare Dean by turning up covered in blood, even if it wasn’t his own). Although everything was the way Dean had left it before he disappeared, it didn’t feel the same. Cas would go into their old room with the guns displayed on the walls, the memory foam mattress, the photos on their nightstands, the research papers scattered across their desk, and it was familiar but it wasn’t home. Not without Dean.

 

On one such occasion, Cas found himself packing a duffle bag. He took all of his clothes, some of the books he had been reading, his two favourite CDs and a photo frame from his nightstand. Even after all this time living as a human, he didn’t have much else. But what he did have he was taking home with him.

 

When he walked through the door and Dean saw what he carried with him, his entire face lit up.

 

“You’re officially moving in?”

 

Cas nodded. “I’m here most of the time. This way I don’t have to keep going back and forth for my things.”

 

It wasn’t exactly a promise that he was planning to stay permanently, but Dean beamed at him as though it was and hopped off the couch. “Come on, you can put them in my closet.” He led the way to his bedroom and enthusiastically swept his own clothes aside to make room for Castiel's.

 

Cas hung up his clothes, put his books on Dean’s shelf and put his CDs on the bedside table to take into the lounge later.

 

He reached into the bag again and his fingers brushed the photo frame.

 

He hesitated.

 

Then he zipped up the bag, leaving the frame where it was. “I’ll just put this under my bed so it is out of the way.”

 

Dean didn’t question it, but Cas could feel the weight of his gaze on his back.

 

In the privacy of his own room, Cas retrieved the photograph. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at it, tracing the image with the pad of his thumb.

 

It was from their wedding day. Dean had crept up behind him and slipped his arms around his waist. Cas had started in surprise, twisting to face him, and Dean had blown him away with a kiss that made his toes curl. When he pulled away slightly to catch his breath, his cheeks were red and Dean was laughing. Sam had chosen that moment to snap the photo.

 

They looked so happy. In that moment, there had been nothing weighing them down. They were in love and anything was possible.

 

His heart ached at the memory.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss against the glass and slipped the frame back into the bag. He carefully stowed it away under his bed.

 

He was never going to forget, but he couldn’t live in the past anymore.

 

Dean was here, now, and he had been trying his hardest to be everything Cas could need or want.

 

It wasn’t fair to ask him not to remember, but reject him because he didn’t. Cas couldn’t have it both ways. He was just making them both miserable, holding himself back for the sake of someone who was long gone.

 

Cas decided that it was time for a new beginning.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean was gradually realising that Castiel might never fall in love with him.

 

They had been living together for over a month, but it felt more like co-existing than an actual relationship. They wore the rings, but Dean had just been deluding himself into thinking that they were actually married.

 

The cold, hard truth was that he wasn’t the same man that Castiel had fallen in love with. Though he had tried his hardest to win his heart, his best efforts were not getting him anywhere. Castiel didn’t want him.

 

Dean wondered why he stayed. Out of pity? Duty? Guilt?

 

He had wanted to believe that Castiel just needed time to adjust, but it seemed less likely with every day that passed. He supposed the fact that Castiel wasn’t willing to move on from him - the other him - showed the strength of the relationship they'd had before he lost his memories. But for the guy who couldn’t remember anything about who he was or what they’d had together, it was a small consolation.

 

 _You were one lucky bastard, Dean Winchester,_ he thought. _I hope you appreciated what you had_.

 

He was gearing up to tell Castiel that he didn’t have to stick around; he appreciated that he had tried but it obviously wasn’t working out between them. He knew it was the right thing to do, to let him go and stop hurting him with the constant reminders of what he had lost. But he kept putting off the conversation, finding any excuse he could. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t want to be alone again.

 

The day Castiel officially moved in, Dean dared to hope that his fears had been misplaced. The thought that Castiel might actually return his feelings had made him practically giddy. But when Castiel almost immediately retreated to his room after unpacking the bare minimum, Dean realised what he had done. He had made Castiel feel trapped in a relationship he didn’t want.

 

The world came crashing down around him and his hopes crumbled to dust.

 

He was going to have to start all over again. Alone this time.

 

His footsteps dragged along the corridor, as though the heaviness of his heart was physically weighing him down. He forced himself to knock on the door.

 

There was half a beat before he got a response. “Yes?”

 

Dean tried to brace against the pain that was coming. He was about to break his own heart.

 

“Can… Can I come in for a second?”

 

The door opened for him. Castiel’s eyes looked red-rimmed, as though he had been crying or had at least come close.

 

Dean felt another pang of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said, moving to sit on the bed and inviting Dean to do the same.

 

Dean perched tentatively on the edge of the mattress. He didn’t intend to stay long. He would get this out and then he would get into his car and drive far and fast so he wouldn’t have to watch Castiel leave.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

 

“For what?”

 

He didn’t even know where to begin. This whole thing was so messed up. But he supposed he could trace it all back to waking up in that hospital room without his memory and failing to recognise his own husband when he walked through the door.

 

_”What… what was your name?”_

He hadn’t realised who he was talking to. He hadn’t known that his words would be like a knife wound to Castiel’s chest. He could never have guessed that he was destroying everything they had ever had together.

“For forgetting you.”

 

In a way, he was apologising on behalf of the man he had been. The lack of a head wound made it seem like he had forgotten deliberately, but he couldn’t imagine willingly giving Castiel up, no matter what other crap was going down. “I didn’t mean to; at least I don’t think I did.”

 

“Dean… it wasn’t your fault.”

 

He shrugged, trying to make the gesture seem casual. “I guess we will never know for sure. But what came next… that is on me.” He couldn’t seem to swallow past the lump in his throat and the words were getting stuck. “I was the one who… I confronted you in that alleyway. I forced you to wear the ring. I made you stay with me. And I’m… I’m sorry, Castiel. I was only thinking about what I wanted. I didn’t stop to think about how much it had to be hurting you.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“I want you to know that I’ll be okay. I have a house, and a job. I’ve worked out most of the basics. I’ll be okay on my own. I can look after myself.”

 

“Are you saying that you want me to go?”

 

An adamant ‘No’ rose unbidden to his lips but he squashed it down. “I want you to be happy. I know you won’t be if you stay here. I’m not your husband, and you don’t deserve to be burdened with me for the rest of your life. I’m not going to hold you to vows I can’t even remember. I guess what I’m saying is… you don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

 

He couldn’t interpret the way that Castiel was looking at him. He wondered if his past self would have understood what it meant.

 

“What you mean is that I’m free to go.”

 

Dean winced. He made it sound like he had been a prisoner here.

 

“Right. Yeah. Of course you are. I’ll just… get out of your hair so you can get your stuff and head on home.”

 

Dean made to stand, but Castiel caught his arm.

 

_Oh god, don’t. Please don’t. I can’t bear to hear you say it. Please just let me get out of here before I fucking break down like the pathetic basket case I am. Don’t make me cry in front of you._

“It’s fine, Castiel, really,” he lied. He knew that if Castiel thought he would fall apart without him he wouldn’t leave, no matter how much pain it caused him. Dean couldn’t do that to him. He had already hurt him enough. “I’ll be fine. I’m doing much better. I haven’t had a full-on panic attack in almost three days. I can do this. I don’t need a babysitter. You don’t have to stick around-”

 

“Dean.”

 

“I mean it, Cas. I won’t bother you. You will never have to see me again. You can grieve for your husband properly and move on with your life.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I don’t need you, okay? So just go, go on, get out of here. Put me in your rear-view mirror and make tracks.”

 

“Dean!”

 

He sucked in a breath, halting the flow of words. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes and he was helpless to stop them. “Please,” he whispered.

 

“Dean, listen to me.”

 

He tried in a last-ditch effort to fling up walls around his heart, as though there was anything that could protect him from the devastation that was coming.

 

“I am not going anywhere,” Castiel said.

 

Dean was sure he must have heard wrong.

 

“Not now, not ever.”

 

Guilt. Pity. Duty. One of the three. Dean obviously hadn’t been convincing enough. “You don’t have to-”

 

“This is my choice. I am not chained to you, Dean. I _want_  to stay.”

 

It didn’t make sense. “But… I’m not your husband.”

 

“No. You’re not the same man I married. But I lost him a long time ago. If I keep trying to hold onto what I had then, I’m going to miss what I have now.”

 

Dean’s throat was dry. He shouldn’t dare to hope, but that stubborn little flame inside of him flickered back to life. “What… what are you saying?”

 

Castiel took his hands into his own. “You’re here now. You’re different, but that isn’t a bad thing. You’re happier. Lighter. More open. More affectionate. I will never stop loving the man you were, but I think I can learn to love the man you’re becoming.”

 

“You don’t have to say that just because you think I can’t cope without you.”

 

“You have it the wrong way around. I don’t think I can cope without /you/. I never thought I would be able to smile again, but you… you make me happy, Dean. I want to find out what we could have together. So I’m going to stay, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

 

Dean stared at him. “Really?”

 

Castiel smiled. “Yes, Dean. Really.”

 

He leaned in, and his eyes fluttered closed.

 

Dean gazed longingly at those lips that were barely inches from his own. He wanted to taste them so badly, but last time he had kissed Castiel he had been shoved away. Every time that he had come close since, Castiel had retreated from him. The message had been clear.

 

This right now, though, he had no idea how to interpret. Surely Castiel didn’t mean for him to-

 

“This is the part where you kiss me,” Castiel said without opening his eyes.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

He huffed, half amused, half impatient. “Yes, Dean. Kiss me.”

 

Dean kissed him.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean liked kissing. It was quickly becoming his favourite thing to do. In fact, he was beginning to wonder why he ever did anything else.

 

He stole kisses whenever and wherever he could.

 

Castiel would emerge from his bedroom in the morning, his pyjamas rumpled and his hair sticking out in all directions, blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes, and Dean would kiss him. He always tasted like coffee because Dean always made sure there was a fresh cup waiting for him. Still, Castiel would protest that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, so Dean would wait for him to finish in the bathroom and then kiss him again. This time Castiel would let the kiss go deeper and Dean would take great pleasure in running his tongue over those pearly white teeth, even as his fingers raked Castiel’s perfectly combed hair back into a tussled mess. “Mm, minty,” he would say, and Castiel would laugh. It was a beautiful sound and Dean, of course, had to kiss him again.

 

Dean would make waffles for breakfast and before Castiel could lick the syrup from his lips Dean would lean in to do it for him. Or he would make eggs and bacon, because bacon-flavoured Castiel was possibly more delicious than bacon on its own. Castiel would wash up the dishes and Dean would slip his arms around him to press a kiss against his cheek, and then nibble lightly on his ear until Castiel gave a breathless moan and turned in his embrace to kiss him properly. Dean didn’t even care about the soap-sudsy handprints that would be left on his shirt.

 

He would kiss Castiel goodbye at the door when he left for work, reluctantly walk away from him and then hurry back to snatch one last kiss. He would get into his car and glance back and Castiel would be watching him so he would roll down the window and beckon him over. He wanted to make sure that Castiel would miss him while he was gone; he took the dazed look in Castiel's eyes when they parted as an indication that he had succeeded, but it worked both ways.

 

Dean would think about those lips all day as he was working. Sometimes the wait would feel far too long, and he would text Castiel asking him to bring him lunch. He would turn up with sandwiches and they would sit outside on a bench together to eat them. Dean would run the risk of spending too long on his break because he would get distracted – sometimes he didn’t even finish his sandwich, but it was worth it.

 

Coming home was also an excellent excuse to pull Castiel in for a kiss. He had to reacquaint himself with the taste of his lips, the texture of his hair, the firm press of his body against his own.

 

“How was your day?” Castiel would ask.

 

“Better now,” Dean would answer.

 

Castiel would capture his lips again for long, luxurious moments, before pulling back and asking cheekily, “and now?”

 

Dean would grin at him. “Much, _much_ better.”

 

Cooking dinner would take longer than strictly necessary because Castiel would lean against the counter, watching him with a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips and Dean had to know what that smile felt like against his own. Cas would also steal food from the chopping board and hold it teasingly between his teeth until Dean leaned in to steal it back. Naturally, he needed a taste-tester as he was adding herbs and spices, but he couldn’t trust that Castiel wasn’t just telling him it was good because he was smitten with him so Dean would have to lick his way into his mouth to double-check.

 

“You’re such a messy eater,” Dean would tell him at the dinner table. It didn’t matter if there were traces of crumbs or sauce on his lips or not; it was the perfect excuse to kiss him again.

 

They often curled up on the couch together in the evenings to watch T.V., but it was difficult to follow the plot of any given episode because neither of them spent very long actually looking at the screen.

 

Goodnight kisses were also a must. It took every ounce of Dean’s willpower not to just pull Castiel into his bedroom so the kissing wouldn’t have to stop.

 

But Castiel wanted to take things slowly, and Dean didn’t mind because he friggin’ _loved_ kissing. It helped that he was remarkably good at it; he would press in deeply to make Castiel groan into his mouth, and pull back just enough to make Castiel chase after him. He would tease and nibble and suck and his hands would be everywhere and Castiel would push him up against the wall and neither of them would let up until they were both breathless.

 

He loved kissing so much that he often forgot that public displays of affection, particularly between a gay couple, had a tendency to make people feel uncomfortable. He earned more than a few dirty looks at the supermarket (although Marjorie down at the bookstore just gushed about young love when Castiel read a page from one of her books out loud and Dean found he couldn’t resist the sound of that deep baritone). A few parents turned their children’s faces away and hurried them along the street, and one or two teenage boys yelled out homophobic slurs at them. When met with such hostility Dean would break away from Castiel like he had been burned, but Castiel would only take his hand and squeeze gently to reassure him. Dean took that to mean that he shouldn’t let the opinions of strangers bother him, and continued touching and kissing Castiel whenever he felt like it.

 

On one particularly beautiful sunny day, Dean’s anxiety apparently decided that the world didn’t seem very threatening after all. The birds were singing, the clouds were fluffy and white, and his knees weren’t aching as badly as they usually did. He had absolutely no desire to stay cooped up inside, so he invited Castiel to come out for a walk with him. They strolled along the pavement, hand in hand, and Dean hummed happily, utterly content.

 

“Filthy faggots!” a voice spat.

 

Dean froze.

 

It was Devon, the man from the barbecue who had warned them about ‘polluting’ their street.

 

“Just keep walking,” Castiel urged in an undertone. He tugged Dean’s hand to get him moving again, but Dean’s legs wouldn’t cooperate.

 

This wasn’t some dirt-bag teenager who was all talk and no follow through. Devon was tall and heavily built. He had short-cropped hair and a wicked scar across his jaw and his cold eyes glinted with malice.

 

“Ignore him,” Castiel said. “He’s just spoiling for a fight. If we don’t give him one, he’ll back off.”

 

“What’s the matter, pansy?” Devon called. “Worried that you’re not man enough to take me on?”

 

Working on the cars had strengthened his arms somewhat, but all of a sudden Dean felt stick-thin and as fragile as glass. Devon had muscles bulging everywhere. He could crush him into dust.

 

“Dean, don’t respond to him. Let’s just go home. Come on. It is only a few blocks.”

 

Dean took a stumbling step forward but his knees had seized up on him and blinding white pain shot up his legs. He gasped and almost fell, but Castiel’s arms were there, holding him up.

 

Disgust was written all over Devon’s face. “Your fucking fairy husband has been pounding you into the mattress, hasn’t he, you filthy dog? You can’t even walk straight!”

 

Hot bile rushed up his throat. Dean gagged and doubled over. He was going to be sick.

 

“Dean, you’re fine,” Castiel said in a low voice. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

 

But Devon had stalked closer. “Oh yeah? And what do you think you’re going to do?”

 

Castiel straightened, moving almost imperceptibly so he was standing in front of Dean. “Whatever I have to.”

 

“You don’t have the fucking balls to fight me.”

 

“I doubt I would need them,” Castiel said coolly, looking the man up and down in a way that was very deliberate.

 

Devon’s features transformed with rage and Dean realised they were about to have the crap beaten out of them. His every nerve ending screeched with panic but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

 

Oh god, not again. Not now. They needed to get the hell out of here-

 

But his body wasn’t listening to him. His knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground. He hunched over his stomach, chest heaving desperately as he tried to get air into his lungs.

 

Devon was going to punch and kick a whole rainbow of bruises into his flesh and Dean wouldn’t even be able to fight back. He would just have to lie there and take it like a dog, a kicked dog, a filthy, worthless-

 

“Don’t come one step closer or you will regret it,” Castiel said. He was still standing protectively over Dean, even though his legs were still working fine and he could have fled.

 

Devon growled and made a run at him.

 

Dean flinched back with a strangled cry.

 

Castiel side-stepped neatly, avoiding a blow from Devon’s meaty fist. Devon lunged at him again and Castiel simply ducked under his arm. He dodged a few more times and then, when Devon was already off-balance, he stuck a foot out. Devon tripped over it and slammed spectacularly to the ground.

 

Devon rolled over with a groan and raised a hand to his busted nose. It came away covered in blood. “Why you fucking- that’s assault! I could sue you!”

 

“You would need a witness to back you up,” someone said.

 

Jeremy was there; he must have heard the commotion.

 

“You saw it, didn’t you? This man attacked me!”

 

Dean looked to Jeremy, afraid that he was going to take Devon’s side.

 

“I saw the whole thing,” Jeremy said. “And if you take this to court, I will tell the judge that you attacked these two men, unprovoked, and then managed to trip over your own feet. Neither of them lifted a finger against you.”

 

Devon’s face went purple and veins bulged in his neck.

 

“You should probably get that nose checked out at the doctor’s,” Jeremy continued calmly. “It is probably broken.”

 

Devon cursed at him but by now there was a crowd of onlookers, and Devon had discovered that he couldn’t count on his neighbours to take his side.

 

He scrambled up and stalked away, muttering furiously under his breath.

 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked gently.

 

Dean climbed shakily to his feet. “Y-yeah.”

 

“If you want to lay charges-” Jeremy offered.

 

“No, we’re fine,” Castiel said. “But thank you.”

 

Jeremy nodded. “No worries. You two take care.” He went off to disperse the others, leaving Dean and Castiel alone.

 

“I would never let anyone hurt you, Dean,” Castiel said. “You know that, don’t you?”

 

“I know." It had been a stupid over-reaction. "I’m sorry. I just-”

 

“You don’t have to apologise. We’re okay.”

 

“Thanks to you." He hated that he had needed saving, but Castiel made a one hell of a knight in shining armour. "I had no idea you were such a badass.”

 

“It was nothing.”

 

“No,” Dean said. He pushed away the lingering edge of panic and pulled Castiel in for a kiss. “It was damn sexy.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains gratuitous smut ;)

Cas usually woke to the smell of coffee, so when he opened his eyes to find the room still dark and no mug on his bedside table he knew it had to be ridiculously early. He had every intention of rolling over and going back to sleep, but he realised he could hear movement beyond his door.

 

His hunter instincts kicked in.

 

In an instant he was out of bed with a fireplace poker in hand. He crept out into the corridor, ready to yell out for Dean to run while he held off the intruder. He would fight to the death if he had to.

 

But instead of a monster, he found Dean doing push-ups on the floor of the kitchen. Shirtless.

 

"Uh. Dean?"

 

"-29, 30," Dean grunted. He flipped over and sat up. "Sorry." He sounded puffed out and his skin glistened with sweat but he smiled up at Cas. "Hey there, handsome. You're up early."

 

Cas raised his eyebrows. "Not as early as you. What are you doing?"

 

Dean grasped the edge of the table and pulled himself to his feet. "Exercising. I found some fitness videos on YouTube - they showed me how. But there's a lot I can't do because of my knees, so I've had to pick and choose. Hopefully it will still work."

 

Cas had never known Dean to exercise willingly. He had preferred to let the physically intensive nature of his job keep him in shape. In fact, Cas was fairly sure Dean had been of the opinion that exercise was bad for him. But this Dean wasn’t a hunter, and he didn’t remember any of that. "What are you trying to achieve?"

 

"Sam said I lost a lot of muscle tone while I was - missing. And that, ah, incident the other day with Devon reminded me that I haven't been doing enough to get it back."

 

Cas frowned a little. "You're not weak, Dean."

 

"I'm not strong," Dean countered. "I can't be expecting you to bail me out all the time."

 

"I promised that I wouldn't let anyone hurt you."

 

"I know." His gaze dropped to the fireplace poker Cas still held in his hand and an amused smile tugged at his lips. "I assume that's why you came in here all armed and dangerous."

 

Cas flushed and set down the poker. At least he’d had the foresight to stow his angel blade in the boot of his car; that would have been far more difficult to explain. "I thought something - someone had broken into the house."

 

"You were protecting me. I get it. It's sweet. But I'd like to be able to defend myself, if that's okay with you."

 

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

 

Dean shrugged and glanced away. "At the moment I can't pack much of a punch. You might feel safer that way. I wouldn't blame you."

 

Cas closed his eyes, pained by the knowledge that one of the few things Dean remembered about his past included what the Mark of Cain had turned him into, without the context needed for him to understand what had happened. "You weren't abusive, Dean. Don't judge yourself on a single memory."

 

Dean wouldn't look at him. "I don't have much else to go on."

 

Cas crossed the room to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dean, you used your strength to protect people. It is one of the things I loved about you."

 

Reluctantly Dean met his gaze. "You're not lying to make me feel better, are you?"

 

"I promised I wouldn't lie," Cas reminded him. “And I think it is good that you are exercising. Sam would be thrilled if he knew.”

 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “My brother is a health freak, isn’t he?”

 

That much had been obvious from the groceries Sam bought. “Yes.”

 

“I suppose it is working for him,” Dean admitted grudgingly. “Was I ever that buff?”

 

Castiel hesitated and Dean groaned. “Great. My younger brother is taller _and_  stronger than me. That has got to be against the natural order of things.”

 

“Genetics determined your height,” Cas pointed out.

 

“Fine, so there’s nothing I can do to change that. But next time Sam comes over, I’m going to challenge him to an arm wrestle, and I’m going to win.”

 

“You’ll have to train hard.”

 

There was a determined glint in Dean’s eye. “I will.”

 

To prove his resolve, he dropped down to do another 30 push-ups.

 

The way his back, shoulder and arm muscles rippled and bunched as he moved was entrancing. To distract from his body’s reaction to a shirtless Dean working out right in front of him, Cas commented, “Sam does at least 60 of those. Sometimes one handed.”

 

Dean grunted with exertion. “You gotta be kidding me.”

 

“He also does sit-ups. And pull-ups.”

 

“ _Castiel_ ,” Dean growled.

 

Heat shot directly to his groin and Cas was barely able to contain his gasp.

 

Dean looked up at him and Cas flinched back in an awkward attempt to hide his arousal. No such luck. His pyjama pants made it all too obvious.

 

Dean’s gaze dragged from his crotch up to his face and Cas felt his ears heat with embarrassment.

 

But Dean made no comment. “I’m going to be hopping in the shower soon, so if you don’t want me to steal all the hot water you had better get in first.”

 

He was giving Cas the perfect excuse to deal with his – problem – without making a big deal out of it. Their heavy make-out sessions often drew this reaction from one or both of them and out of unspoken agreement they always let it go unmentioned. Dean was respecting Castiel’s wish to take things slow, and he was grateful.

 

Except, right now he was also kind of disappointed.

 

He left Dean to finish his exercises and had a shower like he had suggested, but he didn’t use any of the hot water.

 

Dean had his shower afterwards and Cas tried very hard not to stare at the towel around his hips or fantasise about pulling it off and making Dean very, very late for work. He resisted the urge and kissed Dean goodbye at the door as usual, but this time when they broke apart his whole body was tingling.

 

He couldn’t get Dean out of his head.

 

He tried to go about his day, reinforcing the wards around the house, topping up the hidden salt lines, re-drawing the Devil’s traps under the rugs, refreshing the stash of holy water under the sink, doing a load of washing and shopping for groceries, but all the while he was thinking about Dean.

 

It had been a long time since he had sex with his husband. He knew that this Dean wasn’t the same person, and he was reluctant to jump into something so quickly when before it had taken them years to develop that level of intimacy with each other.

 

But it was different this time. Cas wasn’t an emotionally closed-off angel walking around in someone else’s meat-suit, torn between his loyalties to Heaven and his grudging respect for the human that was fighting them at every turn. Dean wasn’t a wounded hunter with trust issues and a drinking problem, stubbornly refusing to confront his bisexuality. They weren’t dealing with one apocalypse after another. They weren’t struggling to navigate mistakes and betrayals. Death wasn’t waiting for them around every corner.

 

They were just two men leading relatively normal lives. They were open about how they felt about each other, and both of them were secure in the knowledge that their feelings were reciprocated.

 

The idea of being intimate with each other wasn’t frightening. Last time, Dean had been afraid that sleeping together would change everything between them. Cas had been afraid that Dean would wake up the next morning regretting what they had done. They had both been terrified that they weren’t cut out to be in a relationship, and that the whole thing would blow up in their faces.

 

But this time it all seemed so simple. Cas loved Dean, and he knew that Dean loved him. They were already living together, already comfortable being in each other’s space. Technically, they were already married.

 

All of a sudden, Cas realised that he had no logical reason to be holding back.

 

After that little epiphany, Cas was rendered entirely incapable of thinking about anything except getting Dean into bed.

 

As soon as Dean walked in the door that evening, Cas seized a fistful of his shirt and crushed their lips together. Dean’s mouth parted in surprise and Cas plunged his tongue inside, twisting and tangling with Dean’s own, needing to taste him, to be inside him.

 

“Want you,” he growled, spinning them around and pushing Dean backwards in the direction of his room. They hit the wall of the hallway and Cas took the opportunity to ravage Dean’s mouth again. He pushed a knee between Dean’s legs and was gratified to feel an answering bulge pressing against his thigh. His hands skimmed down Dean’s side and one slipped up under his shirt while the other slid beneath his waistband.

 

“Cas-”

 

Cas swallowed his attempts at speech and rocked his body forward into him, letting him know that yes, he did want this and yes, right the hell now.

 

Dean groaned into his mouth and his fingers carded into Castiel’s hair so he had the leverage to pull him in deeper.

 

Cas fought to tug Dean’s shirt up over his head and Dean finally let the kiss break for half a second so the offending fabric could be tossed off to the side, but as soon as it was gone he recaptured Castiel’s lips. The kiss was all teeth and tongues and tiny gasps of air that were shared between them, hot and wet and messy. Cas could feel his body tightening in anticipation and it was too soon; he wanted this to last.

 

He stepped back and Dean keened at the loss, opening his eyes to see where he had gone. Cas saw that his pupils were blown wide with lust and he was helpless to resist. He tugged Dean towards him, pressing frantic kisses to his lips even as he fumbled out, “Bedroom. Bed. Now.”

 

They stumbled through the doorway and Cas pushed Dean onto the bed so he landed sprawled out on his back, panting, staring up at him. With his tousled hair and swollen lips and bare chest heaving, he looked utterly debauched already.

 

“So fucking hot,” Cas growled and Dean dropped his head back with a strangled moan, his body arching up unconsciously.

 

Cas crawled on top of him, dropping kisses along his stomach and up his chest. He tongued at Dean’s nipples and they hardened to peaks almost instantly. Dean was writhing beneath him, all sorts of delicious sounds spilling from his lips, and Cas couldn’t help but suck a mark into his neck to claim him all over again.

  

“Cas-”

 

Oh how he had missed the shortened version of his name. Dean always called him ‘Castiel’ these days, so formal, but now he was reduced to mono-syllables and Cas loved it.

 

He licked at the seam of Dean’s mouth and snagged his bottom lip between his teeth. “Say my name.”

 

“Casti-”

 

Cas engulfed his mouth before he could finish the word. He pulled back slightly and stared into dazed eyes. “Say it again.”

 

“Cast-”

 

Cas tweaked his nipple between a thumb and fore-finger. The word aborted with a gasp.

 

“Say it.”

 

“Oh. _Oh_. Cas. My Cas.”

 

Cas purred with contentment and nuzzled at Dean’s neck.

 

“ _Fuck_. Cas. My beautiful, fucking sexy, gorgeous Cas.” Dean seized a fistful of hair to drag him up for another kiss. Dean loved kissing. If Cas let him, Dean would spend all night kissing him until his lips were numb.

 

But Cas rolled his hips and Dean’s attention plummeted south. “Oh fuck.”

 

“That’s the plan,” Cas agreed. He pushed Dean’s legs apart so he could settle between them. The hard line of their bodies pressed against each other was intoxicating.

 

“Cas- I don’t – This is my first – I don’t remember how to do this.”

 

Cas dragged his gaze up to look into Dean’s eyes. They betrayed his anxiety, even though they still blazed with clear interest in the proceedings.

 

“I guess it is my turn to teach you,” Cas said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll be gentle.”

 

“Okay,” Dean exhaled.

 

The level of trust Dean had in him made his heart clench.

 

The frenzied pace was gone. He took his time mapping every inch of Dean’s torso with his tongue, learning the new scars, reassuring him that he was in no way repulsive or disgusting. Every touch of pain was replaced by love until Dean was shuddering beneath him.

 

Cas slowly undid his belt buckle and slid his jeans down his legs. He noticed the damaged knees and made a mental note not to put Dean in any position that could hurt him. He kissed his way along the line of his inner thighs and nuzzled against his crotch. “What do you want?” he asked.

 

“I don’t – I don’t know. I just want you. I want you, Cas.”

 

Cas kissed the tip of his cock through his boxers. “You have me,” he promised.

 

Dean’s erection twitched at the touch of his lips and Cas smiled. “Okay, babe.” He removed the final layer that was separating them and sucked his length into his mouth.

 

Dean gasped. “Cas-”

 

He brushed his thumbs soothingly against Dean’s thighs, even as he drew his cock in deeper. He worked his tongue, pressing against the vein that ran along the underside of his erection before pulling back to suckle at the head.

 

Dean’s hips jerked up off the bed, plunging his cock back into the warmth of Castiel’s mouth. It took him by surprise and he coughed a little.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry-”

 

But Cas just engulfed him again, taking in as much as he could. A hand went to the base of his cock and curled around him, twisting and tugging in sync with the bob of his head.

 

“C-Cas-”

 

Dean's legs were trembling. Cas ran his free hand along his flank, a silent assurance that it was okay.

 

“Cas, I don’t – I think I might be about to-”

 

Cas only tightened his grip and sucked harder until Dean gave a short, sharp cry and spilled liberally into his mouth. Cas swallowed it all down, milking every last drop from him until he was spent. Then he pulled off gently and wriggled up the bed to press a gentle kiss to his jaw.

 

“Fuck,” Dean gasped. “Fuck, Cas, that was – that was-”

 

Cas smirked a little. “I know.”

 

“I need to-” Dean dragged him in for a proper kiss and groaned as their tongues met. “So that’s what it tastes like. I can’t believe you let me do that.”

 

“It was my pleasure,” Cas rumbled. “I love doing that to you. Watching you fall apart beneath me. Those sounds you make. Dean, you are _beautiful_.”

 

“Was I – good at this? Before?”

 

“I don’t have much of a baseline for comparison,” Cas said. “You’re the only man I’ve ever been with. But what we did together was… incredible.”

 

Dean swallowed. “No pressure, huh?” He laughed uncertainly.

 

“Dean, being with you could never be anything less than amazing. Simply because it’s you.”

 

Dean glanced down between them, noting his insistent erection. “I guess I’ll give it my best shot.” He reached out a hand to tentatively cup the straining bulge.

 

The touch was electrifying and Cas felt all of his blood rush south, but he still found enough wits about him to say, “Dean, you don’t have to-”

 

“I want to,” Dean said.

 

Cas didn’t have the will to argue. He lay back and allowed Dean to divest him of his pants and boxers.

 

“Uh. Wow,” Dean stammered.

 

Cas peered through one eye at him. He was licking his lips. Nervous, but definitely aroused.

 

“Have you masturbated in the shower?” Cas asked.

 

“Is that where you, uh-”

 

“Pleasure yourself. Yes.”

 

Dean nodded, blushing faintly.

 

“Just do that,” Cas advised him. “Lick your palm first so we have a bit of lubrication.”

 

“O-okay.” He laved saliva all over his hand and Cas felt his cock harden further at the sight.

 

Dean wrapped his slick fingers around him, tentative and unsure.

 

“Tighter,” Cas said. “Y-yes. Like that. And then – okay, yes, you’ve got it.” He lost all coherence as Dean worked his hand up and down his shaft, slowly at first but faster as he gained confidence. He added in a little twist on his way down and Cas jolted off the bed.

 

“Oh,” Dean said, and did it again.

 

Cas looked at him and noticed that his tongue was sticking out as he concentrated. Fuck, if that wasn’t the most adorable and arousing thing he had ever seen.

 

Dean added a second hand, then, and Cas was lost.

 

When the waves of pleasure receded, Cas found that Dean was trailing his fingers through the cum on his stomach.

 

“This is messy,” he said.

 

Cas laughed. “Yes, it is. But showering afterwards is one of the best parts.”

 

Dean frowned a little. “How- oh. Together?”

 

Cas nodded and Dean’s pupils blew wide again.

 

Much later they collapsed back into bed, warm and sated.

 

“I love you,” Dean sighed.

 

Castiel’s breath hitched. Those words never came easily. He had only heard Dean say them once.

 

But this was different. They were different.

 

“I love you too,” he said.

 

Dean smiled and closed his eyes, curling into him.

 

Cas wrapped an arm around his waist and within minutes Dean was fast asleep.

 

Heart filled to bursting, Cas kissed him gently on the top of his head. Soon afterwards, he was asleep too.

 

It was the best he had slept in months.


	17. Chapter 17

Once he became human, Cas had quickly discovered that he was not a morning person. He usually felt groggy and disoriented when he woke up and he didn’t start feeling halfway to normal until he’d had at least one cup of coffee.

 

But waking up next to someone he loved… there were few moments in his life more precious. And Dean always made it worth his while.

 

As he drifted into consciousness, Cas remembered the night before and a smile curved his lips. He rolled over to pull Dean closer to him, knowing that if he initiated a cuddle Dean would inevitably turn it into sleepy morning sex.

 

But the covers beside him were cold.

 

Concerned, Cas sat up, three seconds away from calling Sam to report Dean missing, until he noticed the mug of coffee waiting for him.

 

He found Dean in the kitchen, exercising again.

 

Cas spent a few long moments appreciating the view before he spoke up. “You know, Dean, the morning after is one of the best parts about sex.”

 

“Sorry, babe,” Dean said, only glancing up at him briefly before he continued his push-ups. “Gotta get this in before work.”

 

“Intercourse burns calories, too,” Cas felt the need to point out.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “Doesn’t build muscle, though.”

 

“It might build one,” he said. He tried to wink.

 

Dean laughed so hard he fell flat on his chest. “Wow, what a flirt,” he chortled. “C’mere.”

 

“What?”

 

Dean rolled over and crooked a finger at him. “C’mere.” There was a distinct purr to his voice that time; Cas realised that he was trying to seduce him.

 

“You’re sweaty.”

 

He spread his legs, just a little, and smiled. “Problem?”

 

Apparently last night had done nothing to dampen the desire coursing through his veins. Cas pulled off his pyjama shirt and dropped down ungraciously next to him, whacking his elbow against the floor. “Ow.”

 

Dean laughed and pulled him in for a kiss.

 

Cas pinned his husband beneath him and discovered that he quite liked the taste of Dean’s sweat. The sounds he made as Cas nibbled down his chest were even sweeter, but they were nothing compared to his reaction when Cas took him into his mouth.

 

Cas would have been quite happy to make love to him all day, but after returning the blow job Dean reluctantly said he had to get going. He made all sorts of promises about what they would do when he got home, though.

 

Cas didn’t realise how thoroughly Dean had distracted him until the next morning when he woke up alone again. And again the morning after.

 

It shouldn’t have bothered him. He understood why Dean wanted to get his strength back.

 

But it also felt like Dean was running away.

 

He was probably being irrational. After all, Dean had invited him into his bed on the very first day they met. Even while Cas had been keeping his distance, Dean had consistently left his bedroom door open at night as a reminder that the offer still stood. When they went to bed together, Dean curled around him and snuggled up against his chest. He seemed utterly content, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

 

But he was always gone before Cas woke up. Dean, the other Dean, had never been very touchy-feely, but he had usually indulged Cas in the mornings. Cas missed that, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think about what was, he wanted to be in the now. He just wanted Dean to be there with him.

 

When Cas worked up the nerve to ask him about it, Dean said that he was too tired to exercise after work and he didn’t want to miss a day. He also said he wanted to conserve what energy he did have left for the bedroom, and distracted him with sex again.

 

It shouldn’t have been a big deal and Cas tried not to let it get to him, but once Dean dropped off to sleep Cas would lie awake for hours. He couldn’t help but worry that this was Dean's new version of freaking out and that at some point he was just going to give up the farce and kick him to the curb. Unconsciousness would claim him eventually, but when he woke Dean would be gone and his fears would come flooding back with a vengeance.

 

Cas couldn’t bear it.

 

One day while Dean was at work, Cas forced himself to have a long nap in the afternoon so he would be able to stay awake all night. He needed to work out what time Dean would slip out from under the covers and retreat to the kitchen. He needed to know if, somehow, there was something he was doing wrong.

 

That night, Dean went to sleep and Cas kept his eyes wide open. He watched the slow rise and fall of Dean’s chest and listened to his breathing, just like he used to when he was an angel watching over him. He looked so peaceful; Cas couldn’t imagine what could be wrong.

 

But at four a.m., he found his answer.

 

It wasn’t what he had feared.

 

It was worse.

 

It started with a twitch. Just the slightest movement, the hint of a wince that flashed across his face and was gone. But a few moments later it was followed by a low moan. The sound was nothing like the pleasured moans he made while they were having intercourse; this was edged with pain.

 

Dean’s eyes were moving rapidly beneath their lids. His face contorted with panic, and then twisted into a raw expression of pure agony. A choked gasp escaped his lips. He tossed his head and his whole body arched, as if pulling against some invisible force that had him pinned.

 

“N-no!”

 

He jerked like a puppet on a string. His limbs sprawled awkwardly, as though he had no control over them. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were turning white and his fingernails were digging into his palms.

 

“Please- oh _god_ , please-”

 

He tossed his head again and his mouth pulled wide in a soundless scream.

 

He jolted once, twice, and then dropped back to the bed like his strings had been cut.

 

He heaved in a desperate gulp of air-

 

-and his eyes flashed open.

 

“Cas!” He jerked back in surprise and nearly toppled off the bed before Cas caught his arm. Dean flinched away from him and Cas pulled his hand away as though he had been burned.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean rasped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I'm just - it's time for me to get up. Go back to sleep. I'll bring you coffee later, okay? I just, I have to-”

 

“Dean.”

 

But Dean was withdrawing from him, trying to escape the tangle of the blankets, trying to get off the bed.

 

“Dean!” The sharp crack of his voice froze Dean in place. Green eyes stared at him and, oh Father, Cas knew that look. Dean was terrified.

 

He tried again, more gently this time. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

 

He was dripping with sweat and his body was shaking.

 

“No, you’re not. Dean, talk to me.”

 

“It was just-” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I have nightmares, sometimes.”

 

Cas remembered the nightmare he had walked in on the first night he was here, and he felt a deep sense of foreboding. “What about?”

 

There was a hysterical edge to his laugh. “Crazy shit, man. But they’re just dreams.”

 

“What ‘crazy shit', specifically?” Cas persisted.

 

“I don’t know. They don’t make sense. They’re just flashes.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Blood. Dead bodies. These freaky-ass monsters with teeth and claws and weird eyes. I'm always trying to fight them, sometimes with Sam, sometimes with you, and there's blood and I don’t know if we got the monster or if it got us. Like I said, it's crazy.”

 

“Are the nightmares always the same?”

 

“No. I can’t even count the number of different monsters my subconscious has dreamed up. Sometimes they even look human. Once, the monster looked like you, only it was oozing black goo everywhere.” He laughed again, but his eyes were wild and his breath was coming in short, shallow pants. “Look, Castiel, I need to – exercise helps me calm down. But you go back to sleep, I'll be fine in a minute.”

 

“Dean. The dream you had tonight. What was it?”

 

Dean shook his head. “I can't- I don’t really want to talk about it.”

 

“This is important.”

 

“Not really. It’s just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”

 

Cas wished that was true, but he didn’t believe it. And he had a bad feeling that Dean didn’t believe it either. “Dean.”

 

He sucked in a sharp breath and shifted his gaze so he was staring resolutely past him. “I was running. Something was chasing me. I could hear barking and snarling but it wasn’t a dog, not a normal one – it was huge and black with red eyes and knife-sharp claws. For a second I thought I had managed to get away, but suddenly I couldn’t move. And then that thing was on me and I was screaming and bleeding and _god_ , Cas – I have never felt pain like that. Someone was laughing and someone else was screaming and I couldn’t scream anymore because I was choking on blood and then there was nothing.”

 

Cas closed his eyes, as though that could protect him from what he was hearing. But Dean wasn’t finished and Cas couldn’t help but absorb every word.

 

“Suddenly I was somewhere else. It was dark and hot and thick with smoke and the stench was awful, like rotten eggs and burning flesh, and there were – there were massive hooks sticking out of me. I was strung up like a worthless slab of meat, hanging over an abyss, and I thought being alone was bad but then I had company and – and-”

 

His face blanched and he lurched over the edge of the bed, vomiting all over the carpet.

 

Cas could only stare at him in horror.

 

Dean slowly sat up against the headboard and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His whole body was wracked with tremors. “It was just a dream,” he whispered.

 

No. No it wasn’t. It was a memory. Dean had remembered the Hellhounds tearing him to shreds. He had remembered Hell.

 

“How long have you been having these dreams?” he asked.

 

“I don’t-”

 

“Did you have them when you were in the hospital?”

 

“No...”

 

“When you moved here?”

 

“Not – not right away...”

 

“ _When_ , Dean? Was it when I started living here with you?”

 

Dean's silence was answer enough.

 

The guilt slammed into him, hard, but it came out as anger. “Dammit, Dean, why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you, it's just a coincidence-”

 

“No, Dean, it's not. Dammit. _Dammit_!” Cas spun away from him and paced to the window. It was still dark outside. Everything out there seemed calm and peaceful, but his thoughts were in chaos.

 

“Cas, they’re just dreams.”

 

Cas whirled on him. “They’re not just dreams and you damn well know it! Otherwise you would have told me about them instead of trying to keep them a secret.”

 

“Cas, they’re not real. They can’t be. The stuff in them, the monsters - it's insane. I just have an overactive imagination. I didn’t tell you because I thought I could handle it, that’s all.”

 

“Who are you, Dean Winchester? Tell me.”

 

“I'm a mechanic. I'm your husband. That’s it, I don’t know anything else.”

 

“Are you lying to me?”

 

“No! Fuck, Cas, why would I lie? I don’t know why you’re reacting like this. They’re just bad dreams.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“I’m going to clean up this mess, and then we can just forget this ever happened, okay?”

 

A lump settled in the pit of his stomach. He wished he hadn’t been so determined to find the reason behind Dean’s absences in the mornings. But now that he knew, there was no going back. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

“Sorry for what?”

 

He could feel his world breaking apart around him. He wanted to go back in time to the night where everything had been perfect, but he should have known that the life they were building would eventually come toppling down. “For doing this to you.”

 

“Cas, you haven’t done anything.”

 

“Yes, I have,” Cas said heavily. “I didn’t mean to, but I knew that I was taking a risk by being here. I just wanted – but it was selfish. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry, because you’re not going to like what I have to do next. But you have to trust me that it is for your own good.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

Cas left the room. When he came back, he was carrying his duffle bag.

 

“No!”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas went to the closet and started pulling out his clothes.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

 

“Fixing a mistake.”

 

Dean grabbed his shoulder and tried to yank him around, but Cas was still stronger than him. He shrugged off the hand and kept packing.

 

“Stop it! Cas, stop. You don’t have to do this.”

 

“I do. I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t want your apologies. I want you here! I need you here!”

 

“If I stay I will only hurt you more.”

 

“You haven’t hurt me. But you will if you leave. Cas, you can’t do this to me. You promised that you would stay!”

 

“I also promised to protect you, and unfortunately I can’t do both. I have to go.”

 

“No! I won’t let you.”

 

Cas turned to face him sadly. “You can’t stop me.”

 

Dean glared at him, and for a second Cas thought he was about to get punched in the jaw. But Dean made a snatch for the bag instead.

 

“Dean, let go.”

 

“No!”

 

“Dean-”

 

“NO! You’re not leaving.” He yanked the bag clean out of Castiel’s hands and leaped back out of his reach so he couldn’t claim it back.

 

Cas could have fought him for it. Dean was no longer a physical match for him. But he couldn’t guarantee that Dean wouldn’t get hurt in the struggle.

 

They were just clothes. Easily replaced.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said quietly. He turned to leave.

 

“If you walk out that door I will never forgive you.”

 

Cas swallowed. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t want things to end this way between them, but he knew it would be easier for Dean in the long run. If Dean hated him, he would be able to move on sooner. Cas would just become a distant memory, and Dean would go on thinking those dreams had just been dreams. He would be okay.

 

Even though it broke his heart to do it, Cas walked away. Dean didn’t try to stop him, and he didn’t look back.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean was stunned.

 

He couldn’t believe Cas had actually left.

 

He had watched it happen. He had heard the door close behind him and the rumble of his car fading into the distance, but he still couldn’t believe it.

 

How could Cas have just walked out on him?

 

He didn’t understand. Everything had been perfect. They were together and they were happy and the sex was great-

 

Unless it wasn’t?

 

Dean had virtually no experience. Maybe he was dreadful and Cas didn’t have the heart to tell him, so he had used the nightmares as an excuse.

 

But Dean didn’t think he would do that. Cas might not ever tell him the whole truth, but he didn’t lie.

 

_"This is for your own good.”_

 

It didn’t make sense. How could Cas justify abandoning him when he knew how much Dean needed him here? Cas had been patient as he helped Dean through his panic attacks and social anxiety; why should the nightmares be any different? Was it because Dean hadn’t confided in him? Maybe he thought that Dean didn’t want his help.

 

But Dean had begged him to stay. It wasn’t just because he was worried that he couldn’t cope without him; he had been willing to let Cas go if that was what he really wanted. But when he had given Cas the option, he had chosen to stay. He had seemed genuinely happy to be with him. Dean had been falling in love with him, and he had thought that Cas felt the same.

 

Dean didn’t think a person could fake something like that.

 

The way Cas had looked at him, the warmth in his eyes, his smile, his laugh, the way his body responded when Dean touched him… maybe he could have misinterpreted their meaning.

 

But when Dean had said those three words, Cas had said them back. Dean might not know him as well as he used to, but he doubted Cas would say ‘I love you’ if he didn’t mean it.

 

If he did mean it, though, why leave?

 

It couldn’t just be about his dreams. They weren’t pleasant, and, okay, they were pretty damn weird, but Dean had been doing his best not to let them affect his waking hours. If he could set them aside after working the adrenaline and panic out of his system, he didn’t see why Cas couldn’t just ignore them and go back to sleep. They were just dreams.

 

_"They’re not just dreams and you damn well know it!”_

 

Cas had been adamant. Furious, even. But Dean had no idea what he had meant.

 

Unless…

 

No. It couldn’t be. Because monsters weren’t real. He would have to be insane to even consider the possibility that his dreams were actually / _memories_ / being dredged up from his subconscious. There were no such things as wendigos or rugarus or ghosts or shapeshifters or werewolves or vampires or demons or angels-

 

_“I’m an angel of the Lord.”_

_“Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.”_

_“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”_

 

A sharp image cracked across his vision – Castiel, standing in a barn, illuminated by a flash of lightning, with the shadow of two huge fucking / _wings_ / illuminated behind him.

 

Dean staggered backwards and hit the bed. He collapsed onto it, boneless with shock.

 

That wasn’t a dream. He was wide awake. It was just like the flashback he’d had of beating up Cas, or of singing ‘Hey Jude’ to his little brother. Cas had confirmed that both were real events that had actually happened. Real memories.

 

It was a memory, recalled in vivid technicolour detail. He remembered the wind battering the tin roof, the bar on the door splintering like a toothpick, the electricity sparking all around them, the man who had repelled bullets and pulled a knife from his chest like it was nothing. He remembered the sick fear and the terrified confusion and the poorly-timed buzz of arousal. He remembered feeling sure that he was going to die, only to find out that this man – this creature – this _angel_ – had been the one to bring him back to life.

 

Cas was an angel.

 

_“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.”_

 

Perdition. Hell.

 

His nightmare came back to him in a sickening rush of white-hot clarity. A hell hound had killed him and dragged his soul to Hell. He had been strung up on the rack and tortured in every possible way imaginable, every day, for days and weeks and months and years-

 

God. _30 years._ Until his will had broken and he had accepted Alastair’s offer. Then he had been the one doing the torturing, and at first it had torn him apart but eventually he had stopped caring and then he had grown to _like_  it. He had turned torture into an art form. He was Alistair’s star pupil. He could break souls faster than almost anyone.

 

And then an angel had come for him but it was already too late. There was nothing left that was worth saving.

 

_"What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”_

 

Those eyes, those stunning blue eyes, had pierced through to his very soul. Cas had seen him, truly seen him, and he should have been repulsed. Dean was a hideous, evil, unforgivable, worthless piece of shit, more disgusting than the muck a farmer would scrape off their boot. He wasn’t worthy to be standing in the presence of an angel – of course he didn’t deserve to be saved by one.

 

Let alone loved by one.

 

Dean was brought right back to the horrifying question of how Cas could have ever loved him.

 

No wonder he had bolted out of here as soon as he realised that Dean was beginning to remember.

 

“I don’t want this,” Dean said. Hearing the words out loud shocked him; talking to himself surely had to be a sign of insanity. But the words came spilling out anyway. “I don’t want this. I don’t want this! I don’t fucking want this!” He dug his fingers into his scalp as though he could claw the memories out of his brain. “Get out of my head! I’m not him, I’m NOT HIM, _I’M NOT HIM!_ ”

 

The images kept coming.

 

Blood-stained knives, headless corpses, a kid with a bullet shot clean through his skull.

 

“No,” he gasped. “God _no_ , that's not me, I didn’t, I couldn’t-”

 

But the memories flooded over him; a lifetime of violence and death.

 

_Hunter._

 

The word rose in his mind. That’s what he was, what he had been raised to be. It was his job and he was good at it. But the lines were blurred between monster and man and Dean didn’t know if there was any difference between the things he had hunted and what he had become.

 

“That’s not me,” he protested weakly.

 

Only silence answered him.

 

He dropped his head into his hands.

 

_"I am ninety percent… crap.”_

 

He had known it. He had hated himself. He tried to drown the self-loathing in alcohol but it only ever made him feel worse.

 

Losing his memories had been a blessing. It was a chance for a fresh start.

 

That was why Sam and Castiel had tried so hard to keep him from remembering.

 

He finally understood, and he wished that he didn’t. Ignorance had been bliss.

 

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He wasn’t Dean the mechanic, but he wasn’t Dean the hunter either. He was stuck in the middle, burdened with the knowledge of his past and a desperate longing for the future he could have had.

 

All he could do was sit there, wishing that his memories had stayed gone, wishing that there was some way for him to get rid of them, wishing that Castiel hadn’t left, wishing that he had never cornered him in that alley in the first place.

 

Before, he hadn’t known what he was missing. Now he knew what it had felt like to be happy, and losing it all felt a thousand times worse.

 

But he couldn’t even cry.

 

After a while he became aware of the stench of vomit clogging the air.

 

Moving on autopilot, he retrieved cleaning supplies from the bathroom and did his best to mop up the mess without hurting his knees. He straightened the bed covers and carefully put Castiel's duffle bag in the closet.

 

He had his shower, and he got ready for work.

 

There was no one to kiss goodbye to at the door.

 

He approached his car and he recognised her properly now. Hunters lived life on the road; she had been the only constant in his crazy world.

 

Curious, he popped the trunk and pulled up the false bottom that he had never noticed before. It was empty, stripped of weapons and other hunting supplies. Sam must have taken them.

 

Dean took it as a sign that his old life was over. There was nothing in his past that he wanted to revisit, nothing worth going back for.

 

He got into his car and he drove to work like it was any other day.

 

He thought that if he stayed busy he could pretend that he had never remembered anything.

 

But the revelation that monsters were real wouldn’t leave him alone.

 

He jumped at loud noises. He flinched if anyone touched him. He found himself peering into the eyes of his boss, his co-workers and their customers, looking for tell-tale flashes of black. His fingers itched for his gun; he felt naked and vulnerable without a weapon that he could draw at a moment’s notice. His gaze darted between the windows and the doors; there were too many openings, too many ways for the monsters to get in and no way to set up an adequate defence perimeter. He didn’t have any silver knives or holy water – he didn’t even have salt. He was known and hated by every type of monster in America and if they knew where he was, if they decided to come for him, there would be nothing he could do. He was going to die bloody, alone and screaming-

 

“Dean?”

 

He reacted on instinct. He lashed out, desperate and terrified and determined that he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

 

He heard smashing glass and yelling and then reality slammed into him.

 

He had thrown his boss bodily across the workshop. Ray was crumpled on top of the hood of a customer’s car, unconscious. The windscreen had shattered, the metal was severely dented, and there was blood trickling down Ray’s face.

 

He had done that.

 

There was yelling and people were running and someone was calling an ambulance and someone else was checking on Ray and Dean could only stand there, staring in frozen horror.

 

“Dean, what the hell, man?”

 

It was Ryan, one of the junior apprentices, gawking at him like he had gone insane.

 

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

 

“You could have killed him!”

 

“I didn’t – I don’t-”

 

“Fuck, man, that is all kinds of messed up! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t – I can’t-”

 

There was too much noise and too many people and too many eyes on him. He knew he should stay to make sure that Ray was alright but he couldn’t – he had to get out of here, he had to-

 

He ran to his car and he careened out onto the road and he shouldn’t have been driving but he made it home and spilled out onto the driveway and vomited everywhere. He was shaking and he couldn’t stop, his stomach was twisted in knots and his head was pounding and his knees were screaming in agony and he couldn’t-

 

He couldn’t-

 

“Dean?”

 

It was Jeremy.

 

“Don’t,” he rasped through a throat that was raw and painful. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Jeremy maintained a careful distance, but he crouched down to his level.

 

“Dean, are you okay?”

 

“Y-yeah. No. I mean- I don’t-”

 

His brow was furrowed with concern. “What happened?”

 

“I hurt – I didn’t mean to – I thought he was a – oh god, I didn’t mean to.”

 

“Dean, you’re not making sense. Just… take a few deep breaths.”

 

He tried by all he could manage was short, shallow gasps.

 

“Where’s Castiel? Can I get him for you?”

 

The name was like a knife wound to his heart. “No. Not here.”

 

“I could call him-”

 

Dean just shook his head. “Gone. Not – not coming back.”

 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

 

Dean huffed out a broken laugh. “Me too.”

 

“Dean, I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but you look like you need help. Will you let me help you?”

 

He was too drained to argue. He nodded weakly. It took every ounce of strength he had left in him to contain his flinch when Jeremy grasped his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. He staggered towards the door, leaning heavily on his neighbour, humiliated beyond words but utterly incapable of managing on his own.

 

Jeremy sat him down in the kitchen, brought over a bowl of warm water and a cloth, and started to clean him up.

 

He still couldn’t stop shaking.

 

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to-”

 

“You said you would let me help.”

 

Dean fell silent and allowed his neighbour to finish.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

 

“Don’t mention it. Now, are you sure there isn’t anyone I can call for you?”

 

Dean shook his head. He was on his own now; he just had to learn to cope. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Okay,” Jeremy said uncertainly. “Well, if you need anything, you know where I’ll be.”

 

“I appreciate that.”

 

Jeremy left and Dean dragged himself into the bedroom. He wanted desperately to fall asleep, but he didn’t want to face those nightmares again.

 

Unconsciousness claimed him eventually, but it brought no comfort.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for thoughts of suicide

Dean realised he had nothing.

 

No job, no husband, no purpose.

 

His body was broken and his mind was in ruins. His memories were shards of glass, cutting him up from the inside and leaving him bloody. He couldn't hunt, he couldn't work, he couldn't even go out in public for fear he might hurt someone.

 

He was trapped in this empty house, alone and unwanted.

 

He tried exercising, but the burn of his muscles and the ache in his joints did nothing to distract him. He tried reading, but the interrupting flashes of dusty old texts filled with monsters and spells made it impossible to focus. He tried watching television but the shows were either too dull or filled with triggers that sent him into a tailspin. He tried cooking, but ingredients were running low and no matter what he made it always seemed to taste like ashes on his tongue.

 

Nothing helped, and it wasn’t long before he stopped trying altogether.

 

He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The hours wore on and day turned to night but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

What was the point of him now?

 

Why hadn’t his abductor just killed him? He was just a waste of space, another body taking up oxygen, useless, worthless.

 

Maybe before, the work he had done to save innocent people had been enough to outweigh his downfalls, but if he went up against a monster now his knees would give out or he’d freeze up and he would just be one more dead person to add to the body count.

 

At least it would be over, then.

 

He had met a few Reapers in his time. Maybe one of them would be willing to end him properly – no Heaven, no Hell, just… nothing. He could be like all those ghosts they ganked, well and truly obliterated. There would be no torture, no hollow memories to taunt him. Nothing.

 

It sounded a hell of a lot better than the meaningless existence he was currently living.

 

Except, going out to find a monster to kill him sounded like too much effort.

 

Sam had taken most of their weapons, but Dean still had his gun.

 

Simple. Clean. Easy.

 

The thought gave Dean enough energy to roll into a sitting position and move over to the closet where he had stashed it.

 

But when he opened the doors, he was confronted by the sight of Castiel’s duffle bag.

_“You don’t know – you don’t know how much it scares me. The thought that someday you will remember everything, and it will be too much, and I won’t get to you in time.”_

 

Cas didn’t want him dead. He hadn’t wanted Dean to remember because he had been afraid that the memories would drive him to suicide and he couldn’t bear to lose him that way. He had left because he thought that he would be sparing Dean from that fate. If he found out that Dean had eaten a bullet, Cas would never be able to forgive himself.

 

Dean couldn’t do that to him.

 

He couldn’t tell Cas that he had remembered who he was, either. Cas thought he was going to live a happy, normal life, not turn into a certifiable nutcase.

 

Dean had to find a way to cope.

 

But he didn’t know how. Not alone, not without Cas.

 

“I need you here,” he whispered to the empty room. It was almost a prayer, and for half a moment he thought that he would hear a rustle of wings and a low voice behind him saying “Hello, Dean.” But that wasn’t quite right, because… something. Cas was an angel, or at least he used to be, but something had… something had happened. He couldn’t remember. Fuck, there was still so much missing! But he was pretty sure that Cas had lost his mojo. He was human now. He couldn’t hear prayers.

 

Dean knew that he could just call Cas on his cell phone, but though he pulled the phone from his pocket he found that he couldn’t muster up the courage to dial. What would he even say?

 

_Hi Cas, I remembered all the crap that you told me not to and now I’ve had a mental breakdown. Would you like to come back to play the role of my psych nurse so I can dump all my crazy on you and not feel so fucking alone? Thanks, man. Oh, and as an added incentive, I still don’t remember a damn thing about our relationship so I’m beginning to think the rings must have been from some stupid case and we were never really married but you went along with me because you pitied the poor amnesiac. I’m sure you must be thrilled to be burdened with me again._

 

Yeah. No.

 

Dean dropped the phone back into his pocket. Against his will, his gaze was drawn to the pearl-handled gun that was nestled in a box at the bottom of his closet.

 

He reached down-

 

-and grabbed the duffle bag instead. He slammed the doors shut with more force than was necessary, a symbolic gesture which meant ‘Don’t be such a fucking coward’.

 

He sat on the bed and opened the bag. The clothes were all tumbled together haphazardly; Cas had been in a rush to leave. They still smelled like him. Dean inhaled deeply and he could almost imagine that Cas was right there with him.

 

He pulled out the trenchcoat, needing something concrete to hold onto when everything else was gone. But the other clothes came spilling out with it.

 

Scattered on the floor like that, they reminded Dean of those few magical nights when he and Cas had been too busy trying to get each other naked to care where their clothes ended up.

 

He felt a pang of longing, and he almost couldn’t bring himself to pack them away. But he reached for a shirt and folded it neatly, then placed it carefully in the bag, on top of the-

 

Dean stilled.

 

There was something else in the bag. He couldn’t be sure of what he had seen. But he thought it was a frame.

 

Hardly daring to breathe, Dean pulled the shirt back out again and set it aside. When he reached back in, his fingers brushed cool glass.

 

Slowly, hesitantly, Dean lifted the frame out of the bag and turned it over.

 

It was a photo of Dean and Cas. Together. Smiling. Happy. Castiel was blushing as he stared into green eyes, his lips kiss-swollen and his body arching into Dean. Dean had his arms wrapped around him and was laughing, even as he seemed to be angling in for another kiss.

 

They were wearing matching tuxedoes and fancy bowties.

 

There was a band of gold, just visible, on Castiel’s left hand where it rested on Dean’s hip.

 

Dean realised that he was looking at a wedding photo. A wedding between two men who were clearly hopelessly, happily, sappily in love with each other.

 

A photo from the day he had married Castiel.

 

_“Dude. I can’t believe I’m really doing this.”_

_Sam laughed. “Me neither. But it’s about damn time.”_

_Dean tugged at the stiff collar of his white shirt. “This is me we’re talking about. Unattached drifter. Terminal bachelor. Now you getting married, that I could believe. But I was never meant to have this. Fuck, I’ve got no idea what it means to be someone’s husband.”_

_“Well, if it helps, neither does Cas.”_

_“Oh, thanks for that reminder that neither of us has a friggin’ clue what we’re doing. This is going to be a complete disaster. What was I thinking, proposing to him like that?”_

_“Pretty sure you were thinking that life was too short, that you wanted be with Cas until your dying day, and that you were desperately in love with him.”_

_Dean made a disparaging sound in the back of his throat, even though Sam was right on the money, as usual. “Doesn’t make this any less of a bad idea.”_

_“Dean, it’s perfectly normal to freak out on your wedding day. But if you think about it, this won’t really change much. You already have a shared bedroom in the bunker, you already bicker like an old married couple, Cas already promised to stay with you forever, and you already told him that he was part of our family. All that will be different is that you get to call Cas your husband instead of your boyfriend, and you’ll both be wearing matching rings. It’s not that scary.”_

_“But what if I screw this up?”_

_Sam quirked an eyebrow. “Dean, you two made it through Hell, Purgatory, an apocalypse or two, Castiel’s god-phase and your demon-phase. I’m pretty sure you guys can handle anything that comes your way.”_

_“But this isn’t just some monster of the week. This is a relationship.”_

_“Yeah, it is. It isn’t going to be a cake walk, Dean, but you and Cas are going to be happy.”_

_“How can you be so sure?”_

_Sam smiled. “Because you already are.”_

_Dean didn’t have an answer for that._

_He was shocked to realise that it was true. He was happy. Happier than he had ever been in his entire life. He had fallen in love with his best friend, and today he was going to marry him._

_All of a sudden his fears dropped away, and all he was left with was a buzz of anticipation. “I’m getting married,” he said wonderingly._

_Sam clapped him on the back. “Yeah, you are.”_

_It was going to be a quiet ceremony. It seemed ridiculous that they were turning it into an actual event at all, considering that legally neither of them existed (well, Dean did, but as a corpse twice over) and they could have just forged a marriage licence. But Cas was a sucker for tradition, so they had booked a small chapel with intricately-designed stained glass windows, ordered some flowers and found a celebrant who wouldn’t ask too many questions._

_The pews were all empty, but it didn’t matter because Dean had his brother by his side and his future husband waiting for him at the end of the aisle._

_Dean smiled and stepped forward._

_There was a sudden blare of sound, almost as though a dozen trumpets had been blown at once. Before Dean could recover from the shock, a host of angels appeared in the eaves above them. He almost went into defensive manoeuvres before he noticed that they were wielding instruments, not weapons. And they were singing, in a perfect blend of harmonies… the wedding march._

_Dean was fairly certain he had to be dreaming or hallucinating, but he pinched himself and the scene didn’t change – or, at least, the angels didn’t disappear, but a figure materialised at the other end of the chapel. He looked strangely familiar._

_Dean blinked. “That’s Chuck.”_

_He remembered, then, the final conversation he’d had with God on the day the world was supposed to end. In a rare case of things actually going well for them, and matters improving instead of going from bad to worse, the sun had been restored and the Earth saved. Chuck and Amara had been reunited and they were going to head off on a holiday together, but Chuck had one last thing to say before they left._

“Dean, you have given my sister and I what we needed most – each other. You have always had Sam, but I don’t think that you have ever realised that you could have Castiel too, if you only asked.”

 

“What – what are you saying?”

 

“I know how you and Castiel feel about each other, even if neither of you has admitted it yet. Why do you think I kept giving Castiel back to you? I just want you both to be happy.”

_God had given him permission. His only condition was that he would be invited to the wedding. At the time, Dean had been struggling to come to terms with the idea of being with Cas; a future wedding had seemed so unlikely that he hadn’t given it a second thought._

_When they finally decided on a date, Dean had dutifully sent up the prayer, but he hadn’t expected a response. God and his sister hadn’t been seen or heard from in years._

_Yet here he was._

_“I wasn’t going to miss my own son’s wedding,” Chuck said._

_The celebrant had fainted. Dean realised that God himself was going to officiate their wedding, and it was the furthest thing from normal but it seemed fitting for them._

_“Why not?” he said with a shrug, and began walking down the aisle._

_Chuck waved a hand and light bled into the chapel. The pews began to fill with people._

_Dean stumbled when he realised what he was seeing._

_These were the friends and family they had lost along the way, stretching all the way back to Pastor Jim and Caleb._

_There was Ash, flicking his mullet over his shoulder and raising a beer can to them in a toast. Ellen and Jo were sitting with him, looking beautiful and radiant and happy; they scattered white rose petals over Dean as he passed. “Don’t be nervous, honey,” Ellen said. “You look great,” Jo added._

_Pamela pinched him on the rear and said with a chuckle, “I’m gonna miss this ass,” but she then turned and winked at Sam: “At least one of you boys is still single.”_

_Kevin waved at them. “I knew there was something between you and Cas,” he said. “I’m glad you got your act together.”_

_Charlie popped up behind him and dropped a flower crown on his head. “This is the best day ever,” she grinned. “I’m a sucker for happily ever afters.”_

_Gabriel appeared out of nowhere to poke Cas in the ribs. “Hey there, little brother! Miss me? I know you did. I’m standing in as your best man. No, you don’t have a choice in the matter. Do you have any candy? Never mind, I want to save room for cake. There’s going to be cake, right?”_

_And there, sitting proudly in the front row, were Bobby, Mary and John. Bobby was wearing a suit but he still had his battered baseball cap on his head. “Took you idjits long enough,” he groused, but there was a smile twitching at his lips._

_Mary had tears in her eyes. “I’m so glad you found someone, sweetheart.”_

_“You had the guts to go after what you wanted,” John said. “I’m proud of you, son.”_

_The flood of emotion was almost overwhelming. But then Dean met Castiel’s eyes and everything else just fell away._

_Cas stepped down to him and took his hands. “Hello, Dean.”_

_His heart swelled with love for this man and he realised that proposing was the best decision he had ever made. “Hey, Cas.”_

_“You ready for this?”_

_Dean smiled and leaned forward to steal a kiss. “Yeah, I am. Let’s get married.”_

_Chuck grinned broadly and spread his arms wide. “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today…”_

 

ooOOoo


	20. Chapter 20

"Come on, Cas, you need to eat something."

 

Cas didn't even bother looking up from the T.V. screen. He had been huddled in the kitchen staring at it blankly for the past two days straight. He hadn't eaten, he hadn't slept, he had barely said a word.

 

"Cas," Sam repeated. He was growing seriously concerned about his friend. He desperately wanted to go check on Dean, but he was worried that if he left Cas in this state he would do something drastic. Or he would do nothing at all and simply waste away.

 

"Not hungry," Cas grunted.

 

 _He speaks!_ Sam crowed internally. "You should at least try,” he urged. “It doesn't have to be much. A sandwich, an apple, even just a cracker."

 

"Why?" Cas asked dully.

 

"You need to keep your strength up."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because - Cas, you're human now. Your body needs food to live."

 

Cas shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the screen.

 

Sam switched it off. "Dude. You need to stop this."

 

Blue eyes dragged up to look at him, then, but they were dull and lifeless. "What's the point?"

 

"Cas, just because things didn't work out with Dean-"

 

"'Didn't work out'?" Castiel used air quotes, something he hadn't done in years. "Sam, he was having flashbacks because of me. You warned me and I didn't listen and I could have destroyed him."

 

"You left before that happened, though, right? He's okay."

 

Cas huffed a humourless laugh. "I doubt it. I let him fall in love with me and then I abandoned him."

 

"For his own good."

 

"He won't see it that way. I didn't even explain properly, I just left."

 

"You had to."

 

"I didn't have to break his heart. When he asked me to stay I could have just said no. I could have spared him all of this."

 

"Yeah, well, they say that hindsight is 20-20. What's done is done, Cas, you have to stop beating yourself up over it."

 

"You think this is guilt?"

 

"Isn't it?"

 

"Sam... I just lost my husband. Again. I'm not-" Cas fell silent and stared at his hands. His wedding ring caught the light; Cas clenched his fist and dropped it out of view under the table.

 

"Cas..."

 

"Sam, I can't. I just - just let me watch Netflix. Let me forget."

 

"You can't drown this out, Cas. If you don't face what you're feeling it's going to tear you apart."

 

Cas didn't answer him. He just stared at the blank screen.

 

"Cas, this isn't healthy. I can't let you-"

 

"Leave me be, Sam."

 

"Cas-"

 

"No."

 

"Look, man, I get it. Right now you're hurting. I know how painful this must be, but you can't just throw your whole life away-"

 

"I already did!" Cas swept the T.V. set off the table and sent it crashing to the floor.

 

The silence afterwards was deafening.

 

"Dean was everything to me," Cas said quietly. "He's all I had. He was- and he's gone now. You can’t fix that, Sam. You can’t fix me. So please just leave me alone.”

 

Cas left the room and Sam heard his bedroom door close behind him.

 

Sam closed his eyes. He remembered a time when he had believed that Dean and Cas were finally going to have their happy ending. They had been in love and happy and their wedding had been the most chaotic, joyful affair that he had ever attended.

 

None of this should have ever happened. It shouldn't have ended this way. For anything they might have done wrong throughout their lives, they had already paid the price a hundred times over. They didn't deserve this.

 

Now Dean was lost and alone, and Cas was broken.

 

Sam had no idea how he was supposed to save either of them.

 

Needing to do something useful, he cleaned up the shattered remains of their television set. Cas wouldn’t be binge-watching Netflix anymore, but that left him alone with his thoughts and Sam realised he might have done more harm than good.

 

He was going to lose both of them. The two people he cared for the most. He had consoled himself with the thought that letting Dean live without his memories was the best thing for him, but the truth was that Sam missed his brother. If he lost Cas too, he would have no one. 

 

All because one damn monster had abducted Dean and Sam had failed to find him. The thing that had slowly but surely destroyed his family was still out there, and Sam didn’t even know where to start looking. He wanted revenge. He wanted it dead. He wanted it to suffer and he wanted to taste its blood. He wanted to inflict the same agonies that it had inflicted on Dean. He wanted every monster on this Earth and below it to know that no one messed with the Winchesters and got away with it. The idea that it was still running around out there, free as a bird and _taunting_ them made his blood boil.

 

He finally understood what his father must have felt when he was looking for the yellow-eyed demon. This was beyond what he had felt after Jessica’s murder; this was anger mixed with _fear_. The hunt had consumed him; for almost a year he had been searching under every rock, in every sewer, in every dump and dive, questioning every potential witness, chasing every possible lead, and still he had nothing. It scared him, because as long as that foul creature was alive, Sam couldn’t be sure his brother was safe.

 

He was torn between wanting to stay here to look after Cas, going out there to continue the hunt, and checking on Dean.

 

He had to check on Dean.

 

Sam snatched up his keys and took the stairs two at a time. He flung open the door-

 

And found Dean standing on the other side with his hand poised to knock.

 

“Oh good,” Dean said. “I felt silly knocking to get into my own place.”

 

“Dean? How-?”

 

“Seriously, Sammy? You went to Stanford. Work it out.”

 

The revelation hit him like a freight train. “You remember.”

 

“Give the man a kewpie doll,” Dean said, pushing past him. “Where’s Cas? Let me guess, sitting in the kitchen binge-watching Netflix.”

 

“No-”

 

Dean paused halfway down the stairs and looked up at him. “No?”

 

“He, uh, broke the T.V.”

 

Dean blinked. “Okay. Bedroom, then.”

 

Sam closed the door and followed after him. “Dean, wait. What-”

 

“I have a bone to pick with my husband,” Dean said. “You’ll get your turn.”

 

“Are you mad?”

 

Dean gave him an incredulous look. “What do you think?”

 

“Dean…”

 

“Don’t give me the whole ‘we were trying to protect you’ and ‘it was for your own good’ speech, Sam, I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“We were just-”

 

“My life was stolen from me, Sam, and instead of trying to help me get it back you decided to continue where that bastard left off.”

 

Sam’s breath hitched. “You… remember what happened to you?”

 

“No,” Dean said shortly. “There are still a lot of blanks.”

 

“So, what do you remember?”

 

“Enough. No thanks to you.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Do you have any idea what it is like to remember the crap we have been through without any context whatsoever? I remembered beating Cas bloody and shooting that poor kid in the head – I didn’t remember the Mark of Cain. I remembered going to Hell – I didn’t remember that it was worth it because I was doing it for you. I remembered violence and blood and death – I didn’t remember all the people we saved. I remembered hating myself, Sam, and I _wanted to die_. I needed someone there to explain the what, how and why of it all, but you left me alone. So yeah, I’m fucking pissed, and I think I have every right to be!”

 

Sam swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, you would have been if you finally got off your ass to come and check on me, and found my brains splattered all over the floor.”

 

The mental image was vivid and horrifying. Sam could hardly breathe. “What-what stopped you?”

 

“I remembered something else.” Dean didn’t elaborate. He stomped down the stairs and disappeared into the hallway, obviously in search of Cas.

 

Sam hoped that Dean would go easy on him. Cas was already in a fragile state and Dean yelling at him wouldn’t help. Why was it that their best intentions always seemed to come back to bite them in the ass? They had just wanted to give Dean a new lease on life, free from the trauma of his memories and the burden of being a hunter. It was the sort of fresh start that Sam could only dream about, and a part of him had almost been jealous of Dean’s clean slate.

 

He hadn’t anticipated that Dean’s memory would come back in bits and pieces. Sam remembered the agony he had felt when his wall broke and his Hell damage came flooding through; it had literally driven him insane. He should have realised that the same thing could happen to his brother. He should have been there for Dean to help him through it, the way Dean had for him.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered. He could only hope that Dean would find a way to forgive him… and that he and Cas would be okay.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sexy times ahead

Cas heard the bedroom door open and didn’t even bother looking up. “Go away, Sam.”

 

He wasn’t in the mood to talk, or eat, or to listen to another lecture about how he needed to pull himself together. He appreciated what the younger Winchester was trying to do, but he didn’t want to be dragged out of this pit of despair. He didn’t want to move on with his life like Dean had meant nothing to him. He didn’t want to find a way to be okay without him.

 

He kept his face buried in the pillow that used to smell like his husband and waited for Sam to leave.

 

“Guess again.”

 

He knew that voice.

 

Cas sat bolt upright. “Dean!”

 

Dean closed the door and leaned back against it with his arms folded across his chest. “You look terrible.”

 

Cas couldn’t believe he was there. He should have been a hundred miles away. “What are you – how did you find us?”

 

“Homing pigeon.”

 

Cas frowned. “You have a homing pigeon?”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Oh. /Oh/. You…”

 

“I remembered,” Dean confirmed. “Sorry to disappoint.”

 

“How-how much?” Cas looked him up and down, searching for a hint that would tell him how Dean was doing. “Are you okay?”

 

“I wasn’t.” The words were blunt and Cas flinched at the underlying anger he could hear in Dean’s tone. “I can’t believe you left me to remember all that crap on my own.”

 

“I thought-”

 

“-you were doing the right thing. Yeah. You always do.”

 

It was a painful echo of another argument they’d had; Cas winced. “Dean-”

 

“No. You don’t get to give me some sob story about how you didn’t want to do it and it tore you apart and you missed me terribly but it was for the best. Because it wasn’t for the best, Cas, it fucking _hurt_.”

 

“I didn’t want you to remember all the pain you had suffered.”

 

“Well I did. I remembered my mum burning to death on the ceiling. I remembered finding my dad lying dead on the floor of the hospital. I remembered Sam dying in my arms from the knife that Jake shoved into his back. I remembered that hell hound tearing me several hundred new ones before it dragged me into the Pit. I remembered Hell. I remembered Jo and Ellen and Bobby and Benny and Kevin and Charlie-” His voice broke.

 

Cas moved towards him instinctually. “Dean, I’m so sorry-”

 

“Don’t,” Dean snapped, flinching away from his touch. “You weren’t there. Not when I lost them, and not when I had to live through their deaths all over again. I needed you and you weren’t there. It’s too late now.”

 

Cas dropped his hand to his side. He hadn’t spared Dean the pain after all and instead of being there to help him through it, he had left Dean to cope on his own. Dean was never going to forgive him, not this time. It was one strike too many. “Then why are you here?”

 

“You screwed up.” Dean’s voice was hard, but after a moment he sighed and his expression softened. “But that’s what we do. We screw up and we fight and the world comes pretty damn close to ending. But we get through it together.” He raised his left hand so his ring was showing. “I think that’s the whole point of this whole marriage deal.”

 

“Dean… what are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying I’m mad at you. I’m saying that you had better not pull another stunt like this on me again because I’m sick and tired of losing you. I’m saying that we’re married and we should damn well act like it.”

 

“I don’t-”

 

Dean seized a fistful of his shirt and for a moment Cas thought that he was going to punch him in the face.

 

Instead, Dean yanked him close and kissed him.

 

It took Cas a few stunned moments to realise what was happening. But then he curled one hand around the back of Dean’s neck and slid the other up the back of his shirt. He pulled Dean in so tight that their bodies were practically fused together and kissed him with a fierce and furious passion.

 

Dean groaned into his mouth and Cas thrust his tongue through his parted lips. He shoved Dean back against the door and held him fixed in place, nipping at his tongue when he tried to regain control.

 

“I’m never letting you go,” he growled.

 

“Then fucking act like it,” Dean snarled back.

 

Cas captured his hands and pinned them above his head. “Stay.”

 

Dean bucked his hips rebelliously and Cas thrust back twice as hard, making Dean gasp.

 

“I said stay.” He loosened his grip but Dean kept his arms right where they were. Castiel’s grin was predatory. “That’s right.” He buried his teeth into Dean’s neck and delighted in the way Dean dropped his head back to bare his throat. He sucked and nibbled until he was sure there would be a deep, dark bruise, then laved over it with his tongue.

 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean panted.

 

“Is that an invitation?”

 

Dean looked at him with eyes blown wide by lust. “Hell yes.”

 

“Good.” Without preamble, Cas ripped Dean’s belt open and hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his pants, yanking them down in one swift motion. “Off.”

 

Dean kicked the offending garments away.

 

“Don’t move.”

 

Dean stayed absolutely still, but his gaze tracked Castiel’s movement across the room.

 

Cas shucked his own clothes before he retrieved a bottle of lube from the drawer and returned to Dean’s side. “You remember how this goes?”

 

Dean licked his lips. “Fuck yeah.”

 

Those lips momentarily distracted him from his goal; he had to taste them again.

 

“You fucking tease,” Dean gasped when Cas finally allowed them to part for air, rocking up against him to nudge their cocks together. “I don’t even know how long it has been since we last did this, but I don’t think I can wait a second more.”

 

Cas was in thorough agreement with him. He squirted a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and dropped his hand between them. Dean writhed as Cas dragged their cocks together in a slow, slick slide.

 

“Stay still,” Cas ordered.

 

Dean bit his lower lip and kept his body rigid as Cas worked them both until they were hot and heavy and straining for release.

 

“You- promised-”

 

“I did.” Cas slicked up his fingers again and at the slightest nudge Dean spread his legs for him. Cas slipped his hand up behind his balls and dragged his fingertips along the crack, trailing lubricant. “This might hurt,” he warned.

 

“Don’t care,” Dean rasped, sounding totally wrecked already.

 

Cas traced the tight ring of muscle around his hole. “Are you sure?”

 

“Just hurry the hell up so we can get to the good part.”

 

Cas took the urgency in Dean’s voice as a sign that he had no reservations about this, but he still went slow, massaging around Dean’s hole before gently sliding one finger inside.

 

“Alright?”

 

“Cas…” Dean warned.

 

Cas slid in deeper and then started to move, coating Dean’s insides with lubricant and carefully stretching him open. When he sensed that Dean was getting restless he crooked his finger and Dean yelped, jerking forward so his cock thrust into Castiel’s stomach.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “I forgot what that felt like.”

 

Cas smirked. “I’m going to jog your memory. Over,” he nudged Dean’s prostate again, “and over,” Dean’s entire body spasmed, “and over.”

 

“Fuck, just do it,” Dean said desperately. “I need you in me. Right the hell now.”

 

Cas pressed a kiss to his ear lobe. “Patience,” he whispered.

 

A second finger joined the first and he scissored them, deliberately avoiding the prostate now so Dean wouldn’t finish too soon. Dean whined and wriggled his hips, trying to drive Castiel’s fingers in deeper. Only once Dean could comfortably take three did he finally pull his hand away.

 

“Do you want to move to the bed?”

 

Dean shook his head. “N-no. Do it like this.”

 

Cas swept his hands down Dean’s sides and then curved them around his ass. Dean’s arms dropped to wrap around his shoulders.

 

There was a long, frozen moment as they just stared into each other’s eyes. Cas saw the Dean that knew him, really knew him, looking at him with a blaze of fire and lust and deep affection, and he realised that his husband had come home.

 

“I missed you,” he said.

 

Dean crushed their mouths together in a way that clearly meant ‘no more talking’. Cas wasted no more time; he hoisted Dean up against the wall and kissed him hard. Dean wrapped his legs around him. Cas was prepared to take it slow but Dean dropped his weight, impaling himself on Castiel’s cock and they groaned in unison.

 

Dean was hot and _tight_ , so tight still, and _fuck_ Cas had missed this, missed _them_. Because Dean was right. They made mistakes and they fought like there was no tomorrow, but when they were together nothing else mattered.

 

They both knew this wouldn’t last long. Cas set up a hard, fast rhythm and Dean matched him thrust for thrust. Cas hammered his prostate and Dean swore to high heaven and Cas didn’t care if their siblings were listening in because he wanted to hear every filthy sound that spilled from Dean’s lips. Within minutes he could feel his legs trembling and heat pooling low in his belly.

 

“You’re going to come without me touching you,” Cas told him.

 

Dean could only nod. He was dripping with sweat, still trapped in the confines of his shirt, and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.

 

Cas rolled his hips, driving up into Dean as far as he could go. It only took three more thrusts before Dean cried out and his muscles clenched hard around Castiel’s cock as he spilled all over their stomachs. Cas locked his knees and pressed Dean against the wall for balance as he followed him over the edge, waves of pleasure crashing over him.

 

When the high faded, Cas found he had almost no strength left. He pulled out, Dean lowered his legs and they slid bonelessly to the floor. Cas pulled him in for a sloppy kiss.

 

“I won’t be forgetting that any time soon,” Dean said.

 

Cas hummed his agreement. “It almost rivalled our wedding night.” Then he paused, realising he might have said something he shouldn’t. “Do you…?”

 

Dean smiled and kissed him gently on the tip of his nose. “I remember. That’s why I came back.”

 

“For the incredible sex?”

 

Dean thwacked him on the arm. “No. Because I remembered why I married you, and why you married me.”

 

“For the sex,” Cas deadpanned.

 

Dean laughed and pulled him in for another kiss. “Yeah, that and some other stuff.”

 

Cas snuggled into him and let out a contented sigh. The floor wasn’t particularly comfortable and at some point they would probably have to move to the bed, but for now there was no place he would rather be.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW warnings apply for this chapter as well

It was mid-morning before Dean started to wake. He stretched slowly, luxuriously, enjoying the aching burn and release of overworked muscles. Sex had been and would always be his favourite form of exercise; he could hardly believe that his amnesiac self had been willing to spend his mornings _working out_ instead of staying in bed with Cas.

 

He remembered about the nightmares, then, and was shocked to realise that his dreams last night had been entirely peaceful. He had woken up naturally instead of jolting awake in a panic with his heart pounding wildly and his body soaked in a cold sweat. There had been no monsters, no flashes of Hell, just clouds and feathers and a gentle breeze.

 

His brain wasn't struggling to remember anymore. He knew who he was and what his life had been before he lost his memory. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but everything he had been through had led him to Cas, and he would live it all over again to have this moment here with him.

 

Cas was curled into his side with an arm slung across his waist, holding Dean close. His head was resting on Dean's chest; Cas loved to listen to his heartbeat and feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Cas had a small, contented smile curving his lips, and Dean fell in love with him all over again.

 

He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his husband's forehead.

 

"Mm, Dean," Cas mumbled, snuggling closer to him.

 

"Morning, sunshine.”

 

Cas showed no further signs of waking, though, so Dean took matters into his own hands. Literally.

 

He slid his palm down Castiel's arm, curved over his shoulder blade and skimmed down his side. Cas squirmed slightly; he was ticklish. Dean let his fingers slip below Castiel's waistband for a moment, enjoying the sound of his breath catching, before he trailed a path back up his chest.

 

He remembered how sensitive Castiel's nipples were and paid them extra attention, rubbing and rolling them into hardened nubs before he tweaked them lightly.

 

Cas made a muffled sound into the pillow.

 

"Still sleeping?" Dean asked innocently.

 

Cas didn't respond so Dean bent down and started using his tongue instead. Cas couldn't help but writhe under his ministrations and when Dean took his nipple between his teeth he gave an audible gasp.

 

Dean felt a growing bulge nudge against his thigh. "Well at least part of you is awake," he chuckled. "Let's see about easing you into the day, hm?"

 

Cas had never said it in so many words, but Dean knew that he loved sleepy morning sex. It was more effective than coffee for waking him up and putting him in a good mood. Dean was more than happy to oblige.

 

He nuzzled a kiss under Castiel’s jaw as he slid a hand back down between them. He palmed Cas through his boxers until Cas was rocking his hips to meet him and then removed the layer of fabric altogether.

 

“Lube me up, babe,” he whispered, tracing the seam of Castiel’s lips with his finger until Cas sucked the digit into his mouth. His tongue was positively sinful as he lapped and suckled until Dean was thoroughly coated in saliva, and then he repeated the process on Dean’s other fingers. Cas licked one final stripe down his palm before Dean pulled his hand away and wrapped it around his cock.

 

It was a relief to remember how to do this properly. Cas hadn’t seemed to mind his awkward experimentation, but Dean had spent a long time learning his husband’s body and he put all of that hard-won knowledge to use now. It wasn’t long before Cas was shuddering with need. Little gasps of pleasure and half-syllables of nonsensical words spilled from his lips, and his eyes fluttered.

 

So close.

 

Dean let go, earning a whimper from Cas as he arched off the bed in an attempt to re-establish contact. Dean pushed his knee so he rolled over onto his back with his legs splayed open. Cas peeked at him through his eyelashes and Dean let his gaze drag over the beautiful man he was lucky enough to call his own.

 

“Are you just going to stare at me all day?” Cas asked in a gravelly voice made rougher by sleep.

 

Dean smiled. “Thinking about it,” he teased.

 

Cas hitched his legs up, putting himself very much on display and Dean drank in the sight of him, only to discover moments later that he couldn’t just look; he _needed_ to touch, to reclaim every inch of Cas and wring the pleasure out of him until he screamed.

 

He snatched a pillow from the top of the bed and shoved it under Castiel’s hips, dug the lube bottle out of the drawer and kicked off his boxers. He pushed himself up with an elbow and moved to kneel between Castiel’s legs-

 

Only to feel blinding pain shoot up from his knees as soon as he put any weight on them.

 

“ _Fuck_!”

 

In an instant Cas had slid out from under him. “Dean?”

 

Dean flopped ungracefully onto his back and let out a litany of curse words. His knees gave a sickening throb in time with every rapid heartbeat and he could feel panic trying to claw its way into his lungs.

 

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

 

Cas had a hand on his shoulder and was bent over him, concern etched into his face. He was wide awake now, and not in the way Dean had wanted.

 

“Nothing,” Dean lied.

 

Cas just gave him a _look_ that clearly said he wasn't buying it and he demanded an explanation.

 

Dean sighed. “My knees. The rat bastard fucked up my knees and now I can’t-” His cheeks heated and he looked away.

 

“So there are some positions we can’t use anymore,” Cas said matter-of-factly. “We’ll just have to be more creative.” With that, he swung a leg over Dean so he was straddling him. He retrieved the bottle of lube and squeezed some out onto Dean’s hand. “Alright?”

 

Dean wasn’t just thinking about sex, but he figured that conversation could wait for another time, when they weren’t both naked and Cas wasn’t spread out above him in open invitation. "Alright."

 

He took his time preparing Cas, working them both back up to where they had been before. When Cas started rocking back into his fingers, his eyes half-hooded and his breath coming in shallow gasps, Dean knew he was ready.

 

Dean slicked up his cock and Cas sank slowly down onto him, inch by inch. Dean’s own breathing stuttered as he was engulfed to the hilt, surrounded by tight, wet heat.

 

“You- you good?” he thought to ask.

 

Castiel’s answer was to pull off slightly and then slam down hard.

 

Dean groaned, grasping at the sheets to prevent himself from trying to roll them both over and pinning his husband beneath him. Cas was setting the speed and riding Dean like a pro; a far cry from the panicked angel who had been kicked out of a brothel.

 

The memory startled a laugh out of him.

 

Cas paused and looked down in surprise. “What?”

 

Dean grinned. “Just remembered something. You’re not as shy as you used to be.”

 

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. “I’ve seen you awkward and inexperienced now too, you know.”

 

Dean’s ears tinged red. “Touché.” He thrust his hips upwards, reminding Cas where they were up to. There was no more talking after that, except for breathless gasps of “fuck” and “yes” and “more” and “don’t stop”. Cas drove him in deep with every thrust backwards as Dean rolled his hips up to meet him. Cas spread his legs a little more and shifted position; the new angle hit his prostate hard and Cas cried out.

 

Dean wrapped a hand around his cock and pumped in tandem with their hips, until he felt the pressure begin to build and he lost all sense of timing. The crescendo crashed over him and when he came back to awareness it was to find Cas collapsed on top of him, sated and spent.

 

“Good morning,” Dean said.

 

Cas laughed and wriggled up to kiss him. “Morning.”

 

They lay in bed for a while longer, feeling no rush and simply enjoying being together again.

 

It was the smell of bacon that finally roused them; they showered quickly and went to join Sam in the kitchen.

 

“I assume by the level of noise coming from your bedroom last night that you kissed and made up,” Sam said drily.

 

Dean chuckled and snatched up a rind of bacon from the pan. “Sorry, Sammy.”

 

Sam huffed. “We really should look into sound-proofing.”

 

Dean hesitated, not sure if this was the right moment to bring up the realisation he’d had. “Actually… I don’t think we’ll need it.”

 

“Trust me, we need it.”

 

“Not if we’re not here.”

 

Sam and Cas both stared at him.

 

“What are you talking about?” Cas asked.

 

Dean swallowed. “I know that I have most of my memories back, which should mean that life can get back to normal, but… truth is, I don’t think it is going to work out that way.”

 

Sam was frozen in the act of cracking an egg open. “What do you mean?”

 

“I remember being a hunter, but I don’t – feel it, anymore. When I was reliving the stuff I had done… it made me feel sick. I know what we do is important, and that we save lives, but I don’t think I like the person it turned me into. I’m not sure I’m… him. Not entirely. I’ve been living as someone very different for the past few months and now I’m caught somewhere in between. I don’t pretend to have any idea what that means, but I’m not sure that I can just go back to hunting like this never happened.” He glanced down at his knees, and his next words were heavy. “Actually, that’s a lie. I know I can’t.”

 

Sam followed his gaze. “Your knees still causing you trouble?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yeah. And my hands were pretty messed up, too. I’m not…” God, it hurt to admit it. “I’m not fit to be hunting. And if it wasn’t my body giving out on me, it would probably be my mind. I’d go up against some monster and have a panic attack at the wrong moment and it would take my head off. If I were to go back out there with you guys I would just be a liability.”

 

Realisation dawned on Sam's face. “Oh my god. You’re retiring.”

 

Dean never imagined that it would end like this. Hunting was his life, and he had only ever expected it to end one way – bloody. He was supposed to go down fighting, hopefully taking a few sons of bitches down with him. But his injuries were taking him out of the game and in a way it was almost a relief. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

 

“So you’re not going to stay.”

 

Slowly, Dean shook his head. “I think it would be too hard, to be here and not get involved.”

 

“I understand,” Sam said. “I mean, uh, I’ll miss you around here. But I get it.”

 

It was almost incomprehensible, the idea of living without his brother. “You’ll visit.”

 

“Yeah, yeah of course. All the time.”

 

“Good.” Dean turned to Cas, anxious about asking. “Would you… would you come with me?”

 

“You want me to retire as well?”

 

Dean shifted uncomfortably. The honest answer was ‘yes’ – it had been hard enough letting Cas go off without him when he didn’t know where he was going, but the thought of watching him leave on hunts with no guarantee that he would make it back home okay… Dean didn’t think he would be able to handle that. Except, he couldn’t justify leaving Sam without back-up. “No. If Sam needs you, of course you should go.”

 

“Actually, I’ve made quite a few hunter contacts this past year,” Sam said. “And honestly, since the world stopped hovering on the edge of Armageddon things have been fairly quiet on the monster front. So if you did want to leave all of this behind you, Cas, I think I would be okay. Who knows? After I tie up a few loose ends I might hang up my boots as well.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Sam smiled gently. “Yeah, Cas, I’m sure. Go live that apple pie life with your husband; nothing would make me happier.”

 

Cas looked to Dean. “I would love to retire with you.”

 

Dean felt relief sweep over him. He leaned forward and pecked a kiss to Castiel’s lips. “Let’s go home, then. But after breakfast. Because, you know. Bacon.”

 

Blue eyes twinkled at him. “Of course.”

 

ooOOoo


	23. Chapter 23

The road stretched out before them, soaked in the last rays of sunlight. If Dean had been into all that poetic crap, it would have seemed almost symbolic – the sun was setting on his old life, and tomorrow morning would bring a new beginning. There were also romantic overtones of riding off into the sunset with his husband, but Dean decided not to mention it.

 

“Does it feel strange?” Cas asked. “Knowing that you won’t be hunting anymore?”

 

“A little,” Dean admitted. “What about you?”

 

“Not really. Since I met you, my life has been in a constant state of flux. I was a hammer of Heaven, then I was a rebel. I was commander of a garrison, then I tried to be the Sherriff of Heaven, then I tried to become God. I became Emmanuel, then I went crazy, then I was brainwashed, then I was human, then I was an angel again, and then I lost my Grace for good. I used to be cold and emotionless, and then I fell for a human – in every sense of the word. I lost faith in my Father and then he officiated our wedding.” Cas shrugged. “I was a hunter, and now I’m not. The changes don’t really faze me anymore.”

 

“But does this feel like a change for the better?”

 

Cas was quiet for a moment. “It feels like this might be the last one. The final upheaval. We’ll wake up tomorrow and our lives will be different, but every morning after that will be the same. We’ll be two humans living like anyone else, unremarkable, unnoticed. Normal.”

 

“Is… that a good thing?”

 

Cas exhaled and the corners of his lips curled up. “I cannot imagine anything better. After everything we have been through, some peace and quiet will be more than welcome.”

 

“You won’t get bored?”

 

Cas blinked at him. “I will be with you.”

 

“That’s enough?”

 

Fingers twined with his around the steering wheel and Cas squeezed gently. “Always has been.”

 

Dean’s fears melted away. It had felt like the right decision to make, but he had needed to be sure that this was what Cas wanted. “Okay.”

 

They arrived home an hour later. Dean pulled his bag out of the trunk and reflected that the only reason he would need to pack a bag like this in the future would be if they went on a holiday.

 

“The Grand Canyon,” he said.

 

Cas gave him a questioning look.

 

“If we ever feel the urge to hit the road again. We’ve criss-crossed all over this country, but we’ve never done the tourist thing. We could visit the Grand Canyon, or the beaches in Miami, or the theme parks in California, or the national monuments in Washington, or the Niagara Falls… Anywhere we wanted to go. Just for the hell of it.”

 

Cas smiled. “I would like that.”

 

There was a bounce in Dean’s step as they approached the front door. “It’s going to be a good life, isn’t it?”

 

Cas caught his hand and spun him around. “Yes,” he said in a deep, sultry voice. “It is.” He pulled Dean in for a kiss and Dean melted into him with a happy sigh.

 

Cas walked him backwards and Dean didn’t mind being led; he was too busy trying to muss up his husband’s hair and map out the inside of his mouth with his tongue at the same time.

 

His back hit the door and Dean was ready for the action to heat up – he wasn’t expecting the door to swing open. They stumbled and almost fell but Cas caught Dean and the doorframe in time.

 

They looked at each other in surprise.

 

“Shouldn’t that have been locked?” Cas asked.

 

Dean tried to remember if he had locked the door behind him on his way out. He flushed slightly as he realised he hadn’t. “I, uh, was in a hurry.”

 

Castiel’s body language shifted to wary and defensive. He didn’t draw a weapon, but he was cautious as he stepped past Dean into the house. “Stay here.”

 

Dean followed him. He might be the walking wounded, but at least he remembered how to fight now. He would be there to back Cas up if he needed it.

 

They checked every room. There was no one there and nothing was missing.

 

“Good neighbourhood,” Dean reflected. There wasn’t much worth stealing in this house, but thieves would have at least made off with the flat screen television.

 

“We vetted this town very carefully. It has one of the lowest crime rates in the country. Even so-”

 

“I’ll remember to lock the door in the future,” Dean said. “I feel like we should celebrate the fact that we still have a T.V.”

 

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “Netflix and ‘chill’?”

 

Dean laughed, remembering when he had taught Cas the true meaning of the phrase. “Exactly. You pick something, I’ll grab us a couple of beers.”

 

They ended up snuggled on the couch watching an old cowboy movie.

 

As Clint Eastwood rode out onto the screen, a memory sparked in Dean’s mind. “Hey. I remember this one!”

 

“It’s one of your favourites,” Cas said.

 

“Yeah. I think I could almost recite every line.”

 

“Mm, you showed me once. But this time your lips will be far too busy.”

 

Cas turned his face towards him but Dean cheekily lifted his beer bottle and took a swig.

 

“Oh, two can play at that game, Mr. Winchester.”

 

They stole kisses between hasty sips of beer, and the movie faded into the background.

 

ooOOoo

 

Dean felt groggy and disoriented. A headache pounded at the inside of his skull, his tongue felt thick and fuzzy in his mouth and his eyes were practically glued together. He peeled them open with an effort and the sitting room spun nauseatingly around him. He shifted uncoordinated limbs and fell off the couch.

 

Hungover.

 

He was hungover. It didn’t happen to him often because he had developed quite a high alcohol tolerance, so he had almost forgotten what it felt like, but this had to be a hangover. His whole body ached and the light coming through the windows was painfully bright and even his hair hurt.

 

He hadn’t realised he’d had that much to drink.

 

He blinked blearily at the two empty beer bottles on the floor next to his head.

 

He shouldn’t have become drunk off two beers.

 

Not even two. One was Castiel’s and one was his. There wasn’t enough alcohol in a single bottle to get him drunk, not by a long shot.

 

He remembered kissing Cas, tasting the beer on his tongue and racing to see which of them could finish first. It had been a draw. As soon as the last drop was drained Cas had set the bottles carefully on the floor and then shoved Dean down onto the cushions and climbed on top of him.

 

Dean didn’t remember anything after that, but he didn’t feel like he’d had sex. He was still fully dressed. Maybe he had fallen asleep.

 

“Cas?” he croaked.

 

He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled into the bedroom. The room was as he had left it; closet open, Castiel’s clothes strewn out on the floor, their wedding photo placed reverently on the nightstand. Cas wasn’t there.

 

He checked the kitchen, but there was no sign of him there either. Maybe he had checked the fridge for ingredients to make breakfast and had found it empty, so had ducked out to go shopping. Except there was no note.

 

Dean frowned and reached into his pocket for his phone.

 

Then the realisation hit him.

 

The fridge had been empty. Except for a full six-pack of beer that he didn’t remember buying.

 

Drugged.

 

They had been drugged.

 

He had a vague notion of sitting in a bar, alone and cranky after a stupid argument he’d had with Cas, and feeling a beer being nudged into his hand from a sympathetic stranger. Then nothing.

 

 _Drugged_.

 

Exactly like last time.

 

God, it was even the same brand of beer.

 

His abductor had been in the house.

 

Suddenly frantic, Dean yelled out at the top of his lungs. “CAS!”

 

There was no response and a cold hand of dread seized his heart.

 

Struggling to breathe, Dean clawed his phone out of his pocket. There was a text message alert from Cas.

 

Relief flooded him. He sucked in a desperate gulp of air and let it out shakily. It was just his anxiety playing tricks on him again. Cas was fine, he was over-reacting. He probably had just gone shopping; a greasy breakfast was the ideal cure for a hangover and god knows Dean needed it.

 

He was going to send a reply asking Cas to bring back extra bacon with a side of Tylenol.

 

But when he opened the message it only contained two words.

 

 _His turn_.


	24. Chapter 24

Sam was expecting there to be a honeymoon period where Dean and Cas were so caught up in each other and their new life together that they didn’t think to call him. He was okay with that; god knows they deserved some alone time after the emotional rollercoaster they had been on over the past few months.

 

When his phone rang, he assumed it was a hunter on a case who needed his help.

 

He was surprised to see Dean’s name on the screen.

 

“Dean?”

 

 _“Sammy.”_  He sounded dreadful.

 

Sam was immediately concerned. “Dean? What’s wrong?”

 

 _“Sam. S-Sam-”_  His breath was coming in searing gasps; he couldn’t get the words out.

 

“Dean, you’re having a panic attack. I need you to focus on breathing. In and out. Come on, man. In an out, nice and easy, just take it slow.”

 

He could hear that Dean was trying but he wasn’t having much success.

 

“Dean, I’m on my way.” He grabbed his keys and ran for the stairs, calculating how long the trip would take if he floored it. Too damn long. “Where’s Cas? He’s closer than I am, I can call him for you, you just have to keep breathing until he gets there.”

 

_“C-can’t.”_

 

“Dean, you have to try. I need to hang up to call him-”

 

_"No! Sam, you don’t- he’s-”_

 

Sam froze. “Did something happen to Cas?”

 

_“Y- Sam, he’s- gone, Sammy, he’s gone-”_

 

“Gone where?” Sam asked urgently.

 

_“I don’t- I can’t remember-”_

 

“You can’t remember? Dean, do you know where you are? Who you are?”

 

_“H-home. Retired- hunter.”_

 

Sam exhaled. He didn’t know what he would have done if Dean had lost his memory again. “Okay, did you hit your head? Or get really drunk last night?”

 

_“One beer.”_

 

Sam almost laughed. If Dean downed an entire bottle of vodka or tequila, he might stand half a chance of becoming inebriated. A beer was nothing. “Since when are you a light-weight?”

 

_“It was drugged.”_

 

Shit. Fucking _shit_. Sam broke into a dead sprint. “Dean, you need to go to the doors and lock them, right now. Close the blinds. Find your gun and don’t let anyone in unless it’s me, okay?” He slammed his car door closed and gunned the engine. “I’ll be there as soon as I can-”

 

_“Too late, Sammy. Got what he wanted.”_

 

“What does that mean? Who got what he wanted? Dean-”

 

_“I don’t know! I don’t remember! But he’s got Cas, oh God, he drugged us and he took Cas-”_

 

“Who did? Dean, talk to me!”

 

 _“I don’t- I can’t-”_  He started hyperventilating again; if he didn’t get the oxygen he needed he was going to pass out.

 

Sam slammed his foot down on the accelerator. “Dean, it’s okay, just breathe. I’m coming.”

 

_“S-Sam-”_

 

Sam snapped. “Dean! You have to get this under control! Cas is in trouble and you’re not going to be any help to him if you’re unconscious. Pull yourself together!”

 

Dean gasped in a desperate breath and started coughing.

 

Sam struggled to speak calmly. “That’s it, Dean. Keep breathing. In and out. You’re okay. We’ll fix this. I’m on my way. We’ll get Cas back. Together, alright?”

 

Dean’s breathing was still shaky, but he stammered out an uncertain, " _Alright.”_

 

“I’m going to stay on the line with you until I get there. Keep breathing for me, Dean, you’re doing great.”

 

Sam put the call on speaker and stuck his phone to the dash, trying to focus on driving even as thoughts and fears ricocheted around his brain. If this was the same thing that had abducted Dean, Sam had zero confidence that they would be able to find it; he had already been trying for almost a year. Cas could turn up in seven months with his memories gone just like Dean had, or maybe this time all they would find would be his body lying in a ditch somewhere, tortured and broken. If that happened, it would utterly destroy Dean, and Sam would lose both of them.

 

 _“Sam?”_  Dean asked. His voice was quiet, his breathing calmer, but Sam knew he was far from okay.

 

“Yeah, Dean. I’m right here.”

 

There was a long pause before he said anything. " _I know I’m supposed to be a bad-ass hunter. I mean, we’ve faced down demons and gods and the Devil himself. I never gave any of those bastards an inch. But… I’m scared, Sammy.”_

 

 _Me, too,_ Sam admitted silently. “I’m almost there. We’ll talk this through and work it out.”

 

Dean sighed. “ _Right. We can do this. It’s what we do.”_

 

“Exactly.”

 

After a while Sam heard his brother get up and start pacing the room. He was antsy; Sam could understand that.

 

“You should try to eat something.”

 

_“No food in the house.”_

 

“I could pick something up for you.”

 

_“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyway.”_

 

“The drugs still messing with your system?”

 

_“Could be. My head feels less fuzzy now, but my stomach is all twisted up. Of course, I tend to puke my guts out whenever I have a panic attack, so that might have something to do with it.”_

 

Sam closed his eyes for a second. “God, Dean.” He didn’t realise he had said it out loud until Dean replied,

 

_“I know. I’m a mess.”_

 

Sam was veering into the opposite lane; he swerved to avoid a truck and a horn blared angrily at him.

 

“I didn’t mean-”

 

_“It’s true, though. I should be out there right now looking for Cas, and instead I’m crying to you over the phone.”_

 

“You’re waiting for back-up. It’s the smart move when we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

 

_“I do know.”_

 

Sam’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “You do?”

 

_“I should. It’s in my head somewhere. I lived it, Sam. Whatever happened, whoever did this – everything we need to know is buried in my subconscious.”_

 

Sam swallowed. “You forgot for a reason. I don’t know if we should be knocking on that door, Dean.”

 

_“If I don’t remember, the same damn thing is going to happen to Cas.”_

 

“We’ll find another way.”

 

_“Sam, how long have you been looking for this thing? This is our only shot and you know it.”_

 

“Dean…”

 

_“You can’t protect me from this anymore. I can’t keep running. I have to face what happened.”_

 

“It could break you, Dean,” Sam said bluntly.

 

_“You survived the wall in your head breaking, and that was 100 years of Hell damage.”_

 

“I ended up in a mental hospital.”

 

_“Yeah, well, if it means you get a lead on Cas, it’s worth it.”_

 

“Dean-”

 

_“You can’t change my mind. I need to remember, and you’re going to help me.”_

 

Sam knew that once Dean got it into his head to do something there was no stopping him. “Okay, well at least wait until I get there.”

 

_“Cas doesn’t have that kind of time. Tell me what happened, Sam, in as much detail as you can. Something has to jog my memory.”_

 

This was a bad idea. Sam tried to coax more speed out of the engine.

 

_“Sam.”_

 

“Okay. Fine. It was a Thursday. We had just finished up a hunt in Oregon that had dragged on for two weeks and we were all dead tired. You did the last leg of the drive, surviving off a gallon of coffee, so you didn’t have a chance of falling asleep yet. I went to have a shower while you rustled up some grub and Cas stayed up to keep you company. When I turned off the tap I heard the two of you yelling at each other.”

 

 _“Why?”_  He sounded tense.

 

Sam hedged. “It was a stupid fight, Dean, you were both exhausted.”

 

_“Details, Sam, or I’ll never remember.”_

 

“From what I could gather, you had been – making those sounds you make sometimes, when you’re eating. Cas asked you to chew quietly, and when you didn’t he said that the food didn’t even taste that good. You accused him of never offering to cook and being-”

_“-an ungrateful bastard.”_

 

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed reluctantly. “It deteriorated after that. Eventually you stormed out, saying you needed some air, and Cas muttered something about ‘air’ being a new euphemism for ‘alcohol’. You slammed the door. You didn’t come home that night, and we just assumed you were holed up in a motel. When you still hadn’t turned up by the next afternoon, I went looking for you. I found the Impala in the parking lot outside a local bar.”

 

 _"Billy’s,”_ Dean said quietly.

 

“Yeah. The owner said you got real drunk real fast, and that he offered to call you a cab. When he came back to tell you one was on its way, you were already gone.”

 

_“That’s it?”_

 

“We checked the camera footage, but the bar was dark and the images were too grainy to see much. But you were stumbling drunk, leaning heavily on a man with a thick beard and a dark-coloured hoodie who helped to drag you out the door. No one had ever seen him before, no one could remember what he looked like aside from the beard, he didn’t say enough for the owner to pick up any sort of accent, and no one saw what car he was driving.”

 

_“He drugged me.”_

 

“That was my guess; you don’t get drunk that easily. But there was nothing else to go on. We never stopped searching for you, Dean, but there was no sign, not even so much as a whisper of where you were or who had taken you. I’m sorry.”

 

_“He was smart. He had been planning this a long time. Wanted revenge.”_

 

“For what?”

 

There was a heavy pause. _“I don’t know.”_

 

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

 

_“He had white sneakers. Didn’t like getting blood on them. Always scrubbed them clean.”_

 

“What about his face? His eyes? How tall was he?”

 

_“I don’t know.”_

 

“Dean, you must have seen his face.”

 

_“No.”_

 

“But-”

 

_“I wasn’t allowed! If I ever looked up at him he would – he would – oh god.”_

 

“Dean?”

 

There was no answer.

 

“Dean!”

 

A strangled sound came through the speaker, and then the line went dead.

 

The phone was out of battery.

 

“Dammit!” Sam was coming up on the town and there was an increase in traffic but he threw all caution to the wind, breaking every possible road law in his headlong rush to get to his brother.

 

When he reached the house, Sam slammed the car into park and leaped out. He crashed through the front door. “DEAN!”


	25. Chapter 25

The floor was wet. His body was pressed up against the hard concrete and he was shivering. Cold.

 

Mornings were supposed to be warm. Soft mattress, soft covers, soft pillow, and a firm line of warmth along his back. Gentle puffs of air against his neck.

 

This was wrong.

 

He fought to open his eyes, but everything was dark. He struggled to get his arms underneath him and pushed his chest off the floor. His elbows threatened to buckle beneath his weight; his muscles weren’t cooperating, as though they were still half-asleep. He shifted his legs and somehow balanced on one foot. He attempted to stand – and promptly hit his head on a mesh of metal.

 

The shock of the aborted movement sent him sprawling, and as the unforgiving cold hit his body anew he realised that he was unclothed.

 

He couldn’t remember what had happened.

 

There was a cowboy movie, and a soft couch, and a different brand of beer with an unusual taste, and Dean’s lips against his. Then nothing.

 

It wasn’t unusual to fall asleep under the thrall of a post-coital haze, but Cas didn’t think they had ever made it that far. He frowned, trying to force the sluggish memories to the surface. He had pinned Dean beneath him, planning to take things nice and slow until his husband was a trembling mess and the pleasure reached new heights. But everything had become blurry. Dean had tried to say something but either his words made no sense or Cas had been unable to understand him; possibly both. His arms had suddenly felt like jelly and he had collapsed onto Dean’s chest.

 

He should have woken up on the couch with him.

 

Instead he was here, wherever here was, and Dean-

 

Worry spiked through him. “Dean!”

 

He tried to stand again and encountered the same barrier as before. It was parallel with the floor, suspended less than three feet above the concrete. Standing was impossible and if he sat up he would have to duck his head; he could only lie down or get onto his hands and knees to move around.

 

He crawled forward, the rough flooring biting at his skin. He stretched one hand in front of him, trying to feel out any barriers or open space. The metal mesh was a looming spider-web over him, reinforced by solid bars that ran in a criss-cross pattern and supported by the occasional squat pole in his path, but he shuffled over almost 15 feet before he encountered a solid concrete wall. He followed the wall around and worked out that he was enclosed in an almost perfect square except for a strange chunk taken out of one corner. There were thick metal bars framing the inverted square, spaced so he could barely fit his hand through, that were interrupted only by a metal door that had absolutely no give when he slammed his shoulder against it.

 

He was caged in.

 

The pieces fell into place and Cas realised what must have happened.

 

He had been abducted. This wasn’t random or spontaneous. Someone had been lying in wait until the perfect opportunity presented itself. The house had been unlocked; Dean and Cas had both been absent. It must have been a simple matter to plant the drugged beer. Once they were unconscious, their years of hunting experience would count for nothing; they would have been completely defenceless.

 

The question was, had Cas been taken on his own, or was Dean here somewhere as well? Cas sincerely hoped it was the former, because he knew what this was. The similarities between his current situation and what had been done to Dean were impossible to ignore.

 

“Dean?” he called. He didn’t know whether to be relieved by the lack of response or not. Dean could still be unconscious.

 

Cas crawled around his prison, covering every inch of space until he felt claustrophobic. He didn’t find Dean.

 

Alright, so Dean wasn’t here. That left three possibilities. Dean was at home, safe but panicking because Cas had vanished without an explanation; Dean had been taken too, but their abductor was keeping him somewhere else; or Dean was dead. Cas chose to believe it was the first option, because he didn’t want Dean to have to re-live this horror and he couldn’t bear the thought of Dean dying.

 

If Dean was at home, his first port of call would be Sam. That was good. Sam would make sure nothing happened to him. The trouble was that Dean would undoubtedly want to come looking for him, and if he did he could start to remember. This small taster was enough to convince Cas that Dean’s memories were better left buried.

 

Which meant that he needed to find a way out of here on his own, and fast.

 

Cas rolled over onto his back and pushed his fingers through the mesh. The metal was sharp but he gripped the wire as tightly as he could and yanked down hard. There was barely half an inch of flexibility; the mesh was secured tightly to the framework of bars and it was not going to break easily. Still, he tried again, hoisting his body off the floor so the return of gravity would set his weight against the strength of his prison. He dropped down heavily and almost tore his fingers off. His hands came away coated in blood, and he didn’t even have a scrap of shirt to bind the injuries with.

 

He didn’t give up. He crawled over to one of the poles and tried to prise the wire off the top by pushing up at the join with his foot. His muscles strained with the effort and the mesh bit into his sole, but the bolts would not give. He tried at the wall next but the wire was secured in place with a solid bar that had been fixed to the concrete.

 

It occurred to him that Dean had been trapped in here for over seven months, and that if there was a way to break out he would have found it.

 

Alone and helpless. For the man who had a deep-seated fear of being abandoned by the people he loved, and the hunter who could handle anything as long as he had something to hit back at, being caged like this would have been his worst nightmare. He couldn’t even stand up to confront his captor face-to-face with all the cockiness and bravado he could muster; he was forced to kneel. He had been stripped of his clothes, his dignity. All of that, before the pain had even started.

 

And there had been pain. The scars were mapped out all over his body. Seven months of torture, while Cas and Sam had been chasing their tails, failing to find him. There had been no rescue. Dean had just been discarded on the side of the road after his captor grew bored with him. After Dean had lost his memories.

 

The timing of this suddenly struck him. The attack could have come at any time, but whoever it was had waited until Dean had regained most of his memories. Dean was supposed to know who he was and what had been done to him; they wanted him to be excruciatingly aware of every last detail. There would be no fun in this otherwise.

 

Cas wasn’t the one being targeted. All of this had been orchestrated to torment Dean further. He would know what was being done to Cas because he had lived it himself.

 

Cas thought that perhaps he should have been afraid of the pain that was surely coming for him. But he didn’t feel afraid.

 

He was angry.

 

He was fucking _furious_.

 

The monster who had stolen Dean from him, who had traumatised him to the point that forgetting his entire life was less painful than remembering what he had been through, who had left him lying in a ditch, who had damaged his knees beyond repair, who had haunted him through panic attacks, who had allowed him to scrape his life together and then tore it all away from him again – the monster that had eluded them for almost a year and had laughed at them all the while… he was _here_. He had made a move, an arrogant _stupid_ move, that had brought Cas right to him.

 

Cas was going to kill him. It was going to be messy. He would tear him limb from limb as he screamed and kept screaming until the room was drenched in his blood and the light in his eyes went out like a snuffed candle.

 

He had just signed his own death warrant.

 

When he heard the sound of a door opening and footsteps on the stairs, Cas did not feel an ounce of fear.

 

He bundled up his rage, twisted it tightly in his chest, and snarled.

 

ooOOoo


	26. Chapter 26

Dean was unconscious.

 

“Shit.” Sam dropped down beside him. “Shit, shit, shit, shit…”

 

Dean was breathing, just, but his eyes were rolling madly beneath their lids and his entire body was jerking and twitching as though assailed by some unseen force.

 

He was in the throes of a flashback.

 

“Shit! Dean, wake up. Snap out of it. It’s not real, okay? You’re fine. I’m right here, you’re fine-”

 

Dean couldn’t hear him. His back arched off the floor and his mouth stretched wide in a voiceless scream.

 

Sam braced himself for a violent outburst and grasped his brother’s shoulders. “Dean!”

 

Green eyes flashed open. For a split second, he locked gazes with Sam.

 

No recognition, just like at the hospital.

 

“I’m sorry!” Dean gasped. He scrambled onto his hands and knees and scuttled backwards, head low and eyes fixed on the ground. “I’m sorry, please- please don’t-”

 

“Dean, I’m not going to hurt you.” He reached out a hand and Dean flinched away from him.

 

“I’m sorry, sorry, please, I’m sorry, please.” He mumbled the words over and over, huddling in the corner of the room and trying to make himself look as small as possible.

 

“Dean, it’s Sam.”

 

His head jerked up. “No!” His eyes widened as he realised what he had just done; his fingers almost tore his hair out as he forcibly wrenched his head back down again. “Not Sammy,” he whimpered. “Please, I’ll do anything, just leave him out of this, he can’t see me, you can’t- you can’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him…” His arms reached out in supplication even as he pressed his body lower to the ground. “Please, I’m sorry, please…”

 

Sam didn’t know what to do. Dean wasn’t thinking straight, he wouldn’t look at him, he wasn’t listening, he wouldn’t let Sam touch him. He was locked inside his own memories and Sam didn’t know how to bring him out.

 

He tried to think of what had helped him when the wall in his mind had come crashing down. Pain had grounded him for a while, but there was no way Sam was going to hurt his brother. The only thing that had really worked was when Cas had shifted the crazy, and god knows Sam would gladly pull those memories out of Dean and into his own head if he could, but he didn’t have that kind of power.

 

 _Shift it_.

 

He only had one play here, and he had no idea if it would work, but he had to try.

 

He sat down on the other side of the room, crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap, trying to appear unthreatening. When he spoke, his voice was exceedingly gentle. “Do you remember proposing to Cas?”

 

Dean’s breath caught.

 

“You asked me to help you. Said you were ‘no good at all that romantic crap’. But you could have fooled me. I barely did anything; you came up with all of the ideas yourself. I just ran errands and kept Cas busy while you got everything ready. You couldn’t have picked a better night for it. The air was still warm and there was just a hint of an ocean breeze. The beach was deserted and the waves were lapping gently against the shore. You took his hand and you walked barefoot across the sand until you reached your own little private grotto. You led Cas to the rockpool and told him to look down. He was entranced by this tiny world that was brimming with life and colour; he said he had never seen anything so beautiful, present company excluded, which made you blush.” Sam laughed a little; Dean had skipped that part in the retelling, but Cas had told him later. In fact, he had filled in most of the details; Dean’s account had been brief and his ears had turned bright red at sharing even that much.

 

“You reached in and pulled out a clam shell,” Sam continued with a wistful smile. “Cas did that little head tilt thing that he does as you went down on one knee. You opened the shell and revealed the two simple silver bands inside. You stammered your way through the proposal, trying to put your feelings into words without actually using _those_ words. Then you asked him if he would be okay with marrying you – you added that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but if he did… And Cas said ‘I do’. I’m surprised Chuck didn’t turn up right there and then, to be honest. You put the ring on Castiel’s finger and he knelt to give you yours. Then he kissed you. You curled up together on a blanket and ate the picnic dinner you had prepared as you watched the sun go down over the water. The colours in the sky that night were spectacular, and the stars seemed to shine brighter than usual.” Sam smirked. “Your words, not mine.

 

“You fell asleep there. When you came home the next morning, you were the happiest I had ever seen you. You couldn’t stop looking at the ring on your hand, like you couldn’t quite believe you were wearing it, but every time Cas caught you he would take your hand and twine your fingers together so both rings were visible. It seemed to hit you a few days later; we were watching T.V and you suddenly blurted ‘I have a fiancé!’ Cas laughed and said ‘Yes, you do’. A week later the bunker was filled with ‘His&His’ wedding magazines. You set a date and decided on a quiet little venue. We weren’t expecting any guests… it didn’t really end up that way though.”

 

“Everyone was there,” Dean whispered. “Mom, Dad, Bobby…”

 

It took every ounce of restraint he had not to rush over to Dean. It seemed like he was coming out of it, but any sudden move could send him spiralling back under. Sam kept his tone light. “I think your wedding must be the only one in history that had God himself officiating and an empty guest list filled by the souls of the deceased. That was one hell of a party.”

 

Dean’s voice was quiet, his gaze distant. “I danced with Mom. She kissed my hair and told me that she was glad that an angel had been watching over me after all.”

 

Sam smiled sadly. “I remember.”

 

Dean shifted position, coming up off his knees and drawing them to his chest; still defensive, but no longer cowering. “Dad shook Castiel’s hand. I thought he would disapprove of us, but he didn’t seem to care that we were both dudes. ‘You found someone who understands the life,’ he said. ‘That’s a rare thing. Hold onto him’. I couldn’t believe it.”

 

“Mom must have been a good influence.”

 

Dean’s eyes focused in on him, as though he was only just realising that Sam was there. “Do you think they’re happy?”

 

Sam thought about the way Dad had slung his arm around Mom’s shoulders, the way she had leaned into him, the way he had whispered into her ear and she had laughed. Mom had let him lick icing from her finger and Dad had spun her across the dancefloor. They were both smiling all night long. John had been a very different man to the one Sam remembered from his childhood, and it had brought home to Sam just how much losing her had hurt him. “Yeah, man, of course they’re happy. Soulmates share a Heaven. They’re together; that’s all either one of them ever wanted.”

 

“Good, that’s good,” Dean said distractedly. A little frown was furrowing his brow, as though some thought was niggling at the back of his mind. Sam watched him anxiously, waiting for the memories to blindside him, but Dean just mused, “I wonder if me and Cas would qualify for the honeymoon suite upstairs, when our time comes.”

 

Sam dared to breathe a little easier. “I’m sure you will. But that day is a long way off. You two are going to lead long and happy lives down here, together.”

 

“That’s what I’m hoping. But-”

 

His face suddenly drained of colour. “Cas is missing.”

 

Sam swallowed. “Yeah, he is.” Wary of sending Dean into another tailspin, he approached slowly and took his arm to steady him. He didn’t want to push this, but Dean had made the choice to remember because he wanted to help Cas. Sam had to respect that decision. “He was taken. By the same thing that took you.”

 

Dean’s face paled further. “Oh god. I think I’m going to-”

 

He doubled over and made an awful retching sound. Sam jumped out of the way just in time.

 

“Easy, Dean, take it easy...” Sam tried to brace him as his stomach rebelled and vomit splattered the floor.

 

“Sam-” Dean rasped. “Sam, we have to- we have to get to Cas. Before-”

 

He hurled again but his stomach had nothing left to expel. He jolted with each spasm in his gut while Sam held him and wished that he could make the pain stop.

 

When the worst had passed, Dean wiped the back of his mouth with a shaking hand and struggled to stand. “We have to get there,” he scraped through a raw throat. “Before that bastard does to him what he did to me.”

 

“You remember?”

 

Dean’s face was grim, his eyes were hard. “I remember.”

 

“Are you… okay?”

 

“No.” He made for the door, and every hobbling step looked agonising. “But Cas needs us.”

 

“Dean, I can go-”

 

“I’m not sending you there alone,” Dean growled. “This guy is a fucking psychopath. And I want to kill him myself.”


	27. Chapter 27

Cas had no way of knowing what manner of creature was coming down those stairs, and he had no weapons to defend himself with. But it didn’t matter. This was the monster that had hurt Dean, and Cas was going to make sure it died bloody.

The lights flickered on, almost blinding after the prolonged period of darkness. Cas blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t the young man standing in front of him.

“Castiel,” he said warmly. A smile curved his lips and he spread his hands in welcome, just like he had once before. “How good to see you again.”

Cas was stunned. “Jeremy?”

A bright flash startled him; he was forced to wince his eyes shut.

“Oh, sorry about that. But the expression on your face was the perfect Kodak moment; I had to capture it.” He lowered the camera and grinned. “Guess I really had you fooled, huh? I mean, I don’t like to brag, but I think I pulled off the friendly-neighbour act _perfectly_. You never suspected, did you? Not once.”

The words finally unstuck from his throat. “It was you.”

“That’s right! You and brother Sammy were running all about the countryside searching for me, and there I was, right across the street.”

He still couldn’t believe it, but the evidence was staring down at him, irrefutable, incomprehensible. “Jeremy.”

He bowed low. “Jeremy Hodge, at your service.” The words dripped with sarcasm, and when he straightened he wore an expression of utter contempt. “We’ve met before, you know. Not at the barbecue – although really, Cassie, I’m disappointed that you didn’t recognise me. Dean-o, I can understand; poor thing was so traumatised that he just clean forgot everything. But what’s your excuse? All I did was get a haircut and shave off my beard. Or were you just not paying attention the first time? Because that’s cold, Castiel, real cold.”

Cas had no idea what he was talking about. “I don’t know you.”

“Oh, but you do. Think back, Castiel. It would have been a year and a half ago now. You and your soon-to-be-husband picked up a case in Haileyville, Oklahoma. There were reports about an old abandoned house; the local kids had a bit of a scare one night and were going around saying the place was haunted. You figured it would be a simple salt’n’burn. You came crashing in, uninvited, and stuck your noses into something that was none of your business.”

Cas remembered the case. The EMF reading had been off the charts and they had barely set foot inside the house before furniture was being hurled at them from every angle. They retreated to do some research and found out that the house had been bought by a newly-wed couple a few years prior. The wife had died soon afterwards in a tragic accident; she fell down the basement stairs and broke her neck. The inconsolable widower hadn’t even bothered to put the house on the market before he disappeared, and no one had seen or heard from him since. Further digging revealed that the wife had been cremated, so Cas and Dean had gone back to the house to find whatever it was that her soul had latched onto.

They found more than they bargained for.

The ghost put up a fierce fight, but Dean held it off while Cas smashed his way through the basement door and hurried down the steps.

He was assaulted by the rank smell of unwashed flesh and human excrement, and then his watering eyes located the source.

The husband hadn’t packed up and left town like everyone assumed.

He was still there, trapped inside his own house by his dead wife.

The poor man was deranged, screaming things at him that made no sense. He was no help in working out what was keeping the ghost tethered. Dean came crashing down the stairs a few minutes later, hollering that the dead bitch was pissed and that they had better find a way to gank her fast. In the chaos that followed, Cas was busy blasting rock-salt in every direction while the husband shrieked and Dean somehow found the presence of mind to spot the wedding ring that the husband wore on a chain around his neck. Dean yanked it off, dropped it on the floor and burnished it with his lighter until the ghost was consumed by flames.

“ _You’re alright now,”_ Dean had told the man. “ _She’s gone_.”

Then, job done, ghost vanquished, they had headed back home and thought nothing more of it.

Looking up at Jeremy now, Cas realised that they had made a terrible mistake. “You were the man in the basement.”

“And now you are. Poetic, isn’t it?”

But it didn’t make sense. “Why would you wish to harm the people who liberated you?”

Jeremy’s face twisted. “I didn’t ask to be ‘liberated’. You had no right to come busting into my home and mess with things that did not concern you.”

“If we had not arrived when we did, you would have starved to death.”

“That’s what I _wanted_.”

Cas stared at him. “I know that being haunted is not a pleasant experience, but surely freedom is preferable to death.”

“I wasn’t a prisoner!”

“The ghost was keeping you trapped down here-”

“No. I chose to stay.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I loved my wife and I wasn’t about to abandon her!”

“She died.”

“You don’t think I know that? I was the one who found her body, broken and lying in a bloody puddle at the bottom of the stairs. But she came back to me, because when we said our vows we meant them, and we promised that our love was forever. I didn’t care that she was a spirit. She was mine, and I loved her. I wanted to be with her.”

“Ghosts are souls that cannot move on. Being stuck here was driving her crazy. She was already becoming violent – it wouldn’t have been long before she degenerated into something more animal than human.”

Jeremy took a threatening step forward and Cas flinched backwards despite himself. “Don’t talk about my wife that way,” he growled.

“She would have killed you!”

“No. You’re wrong. I asked her to, I _begged_  her to, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurt me and she couldn’t bear to watch me commit suicide. I chose to do it the slow way, for her sake. But you ruined everything.”

“We saved you.”

“You _murdered_  my _wife_! I was going to die to be with her. We would have spent an eternity together. But you attacked her. You invaded our home and pelted her with salt rounds that made her _scream_  with pain. And then Dean stole her wedding ring from around my neck, even as I begged him to leave us alone. He killed my beloved Katelyn like it was nothing, like she was just some damned dog to be put down. He _destroyed_ her. So I’m returning the favour.”

Cas struggled to keep his anger contained. “We were doing our jobs. Protecting people.”

“Katelyn would never have hurt anyone.”

“Every ghost turns, Jeremy. Every single one. Dean’s surrogate father knew more about ghosts than anyone, and even he turned vengeful. Katelyn was already heading that way; that’s how we heard about the case in the first place. She broke some poor kid’s leg and gave another a concussion-”

“Those punks broke into our house; they deserved everything they got! And so did Dean.”

Cas thought about the man who had been lying in that hospital bed, stick-thin and swamped by bandages, his entire life erased from his memory. He thought about the scars that marred his body and the knees that had never fully healed. He thought about the crippling panic attacks that had left him feeling out of control and utterly humiliated. He thought about the way the terror had choked the very air from his lungs.

“Dean is a good man.” His fists were clenched, but his voice was deadly quiet. “We were just trying to help you. He did not deserve what you did to him. What you’re still doing to him.”

“This is an eye for an eye. He destroyed Katelyn, and I destroyed him. He stole the love of my life, and I have stolen his. He is going to find out how it feels to watch the person he married die in agony.”

“That is never going to happen.”

Jeremy approached the cage and crouched down so they were eye to eye. “Oh, my poor defiant little puppy dog.” His tone had changed from cold rage to sickly sweet. “Bark at me all you like; it won’t stop me from having my way with you. Dean learned that lesson the hard way.”

“What did you do to him?”

Jeremy’s face split into a wide grin. “I’m so glad you asked. Let me show you.”


	28. Chapter 28

Dean was a man on a mission. He stormed from the house, letting Sam lock the door behind him, and made a bee-line for his car. Instead of climbing into the driver’s seat, he ignored the screaming of his knees to drop down onto his stomach and wriggled underneath the vehicle.

 

He stubbornly pushed past the intense feeling of claustrophobia that came with having a metal barricade scant inches over his head, and rolled over onto his back. It was dark but his questing fingers knew every detail of the Impala’s underbelly and he swiftly found what was out of place. He yanked it off and hoisted his body back out into the open.

 

“Dean, what-?”

 

Dean took a moment to breathe before he held up the small electronic tracking device. “Bastard low-jacked my car. It’s how he found me the first time and he fucking _told_  me that, but I forgot that crucial little bit of information with all the rest.”

 

Sam’s face had paled. “I never even thought to check if she had been tampered with. God, Dean, I’m so sorry. When I gave you back your car, I told him exactly where you were.”

 

“I doubt he ever lost me.”

 

“That’s doesn’t make it any better. I just left you here alone, with no memories, no way to defend yourself. I swear, Dean, if I had known-”

 

“It’s done, Sam.” He didn’t want to think about ‘what ifs' because if he did the blame would inevitably come around onto him – if he hadn’t walked out in a huff that night, if he hadn’t been stupid enough to give a stranger the chance to slip a roofie into his drink, if he hadn’t failed to escape, if he hadn’t lost his memories, if he hadn’t left the house unlocked, then maybe Cas wouldn’t be in trouble right now. But beating himself up over it wasn’t going to help Cas. They needed to get there.

 

“At least we can trace the signal back to him,” Sam said.

 

“No need.” Dean dropped the tracking device into a plant pot so the car would appear to be sitting in the driveway. “I know where he is. At least this way he won’t see us coming.”

 

“Dean… how much do you actually remember?”

 

“Enough.” Too much. If Cas wasn’t in danger the memories would probably send him screaming to the nuthouse. As it was, he was struggling to stay calm and composed; he just had to hope Sam couldn’t see him shaking.

 

Time to change the subject. “We need weapons.”

 

Sam nodded and went around to the trunk of his car. “What are we dealing with?” he asked as he rummaged around. “Demon, shapeshifter-?”

 

“Human.”

 

Sam looked up in surprise. “A human did this to you?”

 

Dean stiffened. Whether Sam intended it or not, the implication was that a mere human shouldn’t have been able to break him. Truth was, Dean couldn’t understand it either. He had been tortured in Hell for 30 years by a demon who had turned inflicting pain into an art form; seven months being knocked around by a human should have been nothing in comparison.

 

In the past, nightmares and a drinking problem were the extent of his PTSD. But this time his brain had decided to opt for dissociative amnesia, anxiety and severe panic attacks, as though what the bastard had done was far worse than anything he had experienced in the past. That was bullshit, and Dean knew it, but knowing didn’t lessen the terror he felt at the thought of confronting the man who had brought him to his knees in every sense of the word.

 

“Pathetic, I know,” he bit out.

 

“No, Dean, that’s not – it’s just, humans aren’t really our jurisdiction. Monsters are one thing, but I don’t know if we can play judge, jury and executioner when a human is involved. There are laws. Due process, and all that. Jail-”

 

“-is too good for that bastard.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Sam, I’m not going to call the cops on this guy in the blind hope that they will get to him before he tortures my husband to death, and I’m sure as hell not going to testify against him in a courtroom on the off chance that they’ll put him away for life. I don’t want to be jumping at shadows and constantly looking over my shoulder. I want him _dead_ , and if you get in my way so help me-”

 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

 

Dean hadn’t even realised that his breathing was going haywire; he clenched his fists and willed his heart-rate to settle.

 

“You don’t have to be a part of this, Sammy. I can deal with this on my own.”

 

“No,” Sam said. For a moment, Dean thought Sam was going to cite his borderline panic attack as proof that he clearly couldn’t. But all he said was, “You don’t have to.”  

 

“I’m not going to show him any mercy,” Dean warned. “If I see the shot, I’m taking it.”

 

Sam didn’t argue with him. He just pulled a side-arm and a pair of knives out of the trunk of his car, flipping one of the blades in his hand to pass it over by the handle. “Fair enough.”

 

Dean already had his gun, but he pocketed some extra ammo. “We’re going to need some heavy-duty bolt cutters. And possibly an axe to break down the door.”

 

 Sam picked up the additional items. “Anything else?”

 

Dean eyed the grenade-launcher. He wanted to blow the whole place to hell, and doing it from a distance would spare him from having to confront the sadistic bastard directly. But he couldn’t risk Cas. “No. Let’s get going.” He headed for the Impala.

 

“Ah, Dean? Mind if I drive?”

 

Dean’s gut instinct was to refuse. But he knew why Sam didn’t want him behind the wheel; if he had a panic attack (and given their intended destination that wasn’t at all unlikely), he didn’t want to end up wrapped around a tree or splattered all over the road. Not unreasonable. But Dean hated to admit to any form of weakness, because if he couldn’t even drive without flipping out how was he supposed to handle an all-out fight?

 

 _Because it’s Cas, and I have to,_ Dean thought stubbornly. Once they got there, he would just have to get his grit together. But for now, he should probably make sure they survived the journey.

 

“Fine.” He tossed over the keys and moved around to the passenger side.  

 

“Where are we going?”

 

There was a part of him that wanted to drive in the opposite direction, to drive and keep driving and never look back, but he knew he couldn’t. He clamped down hard on the fear twisting inside him. “Haileyville, Oklahoma.”

 

Sam pulled out onto the road, and Dean watched his house shrink in the rear-view mirror. It had never been the sanctuary he had believed it to be, but he still felt the urge to barricade himself within those four walls, as though he could somehow be safe there.

 

He had never felt like this before a hunt. Sure, there were some big bads that had scared the crap out of him, and the risk of dying had constantly hung over their heads. But this time, death wasn’t the worst that could happen.

 

He forced his eyes to the front and focused on not ruining the upholstery.

 

Sam cleared his throat. “Can I ask what we’re walking into?”

 

The last thing Dean wanted to do was talk about where they were going, but he couldn’t expect Sam to go into this fight blind. “Small town, quiet neighbourhood, average house. The locals think it’s haunted, but we ganked that bitch more than a year ago. Unfortunately, her husband took offence. Ungrateful bastard.”

 

“Is there… anything about him? Anything I should know?”

 

“He’s stronger than he looks. Smart. And… he got off on it.”

 

Sam’s grip tightened around the steering wheel but he kept his eyes on the road and didn’t press for details.

 

For some reason, the words wandered out of Dean’s mouth of their own accord. “It was about revenge to begin with, but after a while he started enjoying himself. Got more creative. Experimented. He had this notebook where he’d record my responses and-” Hot bile rushed up his throat; it took all of his willpower to swallow it back down. “-and a camera.”

 

Sam’s knuckles were turning white. “He took photos?”

 

“Hundreds. Developed them himself. He showed me his favourites.” His gut clenched and he doubled over, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. The images flashed before his mind’s eye – he saw his defiance crumbling, his dignity dying, his body being torn apart. He saw the moment when his captor won, when Dean became everything he said he was.

 

“-ean. Dean!”

 

He hadn’t even noticed the car pulling over to the side of the road, but suddenly Sam was there, crouching beside him, reaching out but not touching, trying to call him back from wherever his mind had taken him.

 

Dean forced his fingers to unclench from his hair and lifted his head.

 

Sam looked devastated.

 

“I’m fine,” Dean rasped.

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

There was blood under his fingernails and his scalp felt sticky.

 

“No, I’m not,” he admitted. “But I won’t be until we get this guy. We have to keep going.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Sam, get back in the car and keep driving.”

 

He could tell that his brother wanted to argue. He could almost see the cogs whirring in his brain as he contemplated taking a detour to the bunker so that he could leave Dean behind.

 

“I need to do this.”

 

“Dean, I get that you’re worried about Cas, but I can handle this one. I’ll bring him back to you, I promise.”

 

“It’s not just about Cas. I have to face this thing, or I might never-”

 

He couldn’t put it into words.

 

But Sam understood him anyway. “Okay, Dean.” He squeezed his shoulder in gentle reassurance, then moved back to the driver’s side.

 

As the tires hit asphalt again, Dean hoped that he wasn’t making a mistake that would get them all killed.


	29. Chapter 29

“Now, Castiel, I want you to keep in mind that Dean was my guest for over seven months,” Jeremy said. “I was able to take things nice and slow with him. Unfortunately, you’re not going to be able to get the full experience because I doubt it will take Dean long to remember and it is important that when he works up the nerve to come back here that he finds you a bleeding, dying mess. But I’ll do my best to give you a taster of what your husband went through, okay?”

 

“Dean won’t walk into your trap.”

 

“Of course he will. No one can think straight when it comes to their significant other. He might be terrified of me, but that won’t stop him from charging in here, trying to be your knight in shining armour. He’ll delude himself into thinking he can handle it. But he’ll freeze up, and it will be almost laughably easy to disarm him.”

 

Cas wanted to tell Jeremy that he was wrong, that if Dean did show up it would be all guns blazing and Jeremy wouldn’t stand a chance against him. But he had seen for himself how crippling Dean’s panic attacks were. He didn’t want Dean to come here. He didn’t want him to see this place and be reminded of what had been done to him. He didn’t want Dean to try to confront this monster. He wanted Dean to stay away, far away… because he was afraid that Jeremy was right.

 

“It would take very little effort to throw him in there with you,” Jeremy continued. “But I think it will be more fun to invite him to trade places. You’ll die anyway, of course, but Dean will have to face the fact that he gave himself over to me _willingly_. That will be what finally pushes him over the edge, and I cannot _wait_  to taste that victory.” He rolled his eyes rapturously. “I tell you, Castiel, it is going to be better than sex.”

 

“Are you just going to talk at me all day?” Cas tried to sound bored and disinterested.

 

“Oh, you _are_  a curious puppy, aren’t you? You’re so eager to know what I did to your husband. I only wished I had thought to film it so you could listen to the sound of his screams. The pitiful sobbing was delicious too. And when he begged…” Jeremy licked his lips. “Oh how I’ve missed him. But it won’t be long now, and I’m sure you’ll be more than enough to tide me over.”

 

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

 

“Big words, coming from a dog in a cage. What do you think you’re going to be able to do to me from in there?”

 

“You can’t hurt me either,” Cas pointed out.

 

A slow smile spread across his face. “Oh, can’t I?” He reached up and grasped some loose wires that were hanging from the ceiling; it looked like one of the light fixtures had been ripped out.

 

Cas eyed the length of cord and shuffled backwards a short distance. “You can’t reach me with those.”

 

He didn’t like the way Jeremy was grinning at him. “I don’t have to.” He dragged the wires down and let them hover over the metal frame of the cage.

 

Cas hunched lower, making sure that none of his skin was touching the metal.

 

Jeremy chuckled. “You’re cute.” He let the bare wires touch the metal and there was a sharp snap of electricity.

 

Too late, Cas remembered that he was kneeling in a puddle.

  

The jolt hit him and every muscle in his body seized. He felt like he was burning from the inside out but he couldn’t even scream past the tightness in his throat.

 

When the current released him, he dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

 

He gasped for air.

 

“Gotcha,” Jeremy smirked. He was standing a step up from the floor, safe and dry. “Elegant in its simplicity, don’t you think? When I brought down the wires Dean would scurry around like a rat, searching for a patch of floor that wasn’t wet. He rarely made it on time. I never held the shock for long enough to trigger a heart-attack, of course. That would have ended the fun far too quickly.”

 

The rage burned hotter than the electricity had. “You son of a bitch!”

 

A second shock ripped through him.

 

“Language,” Jeremy said mildly.

 

“Motherfuck-”

 

This time Jeremy held it longer. When he finally released him, Cas could smell charred flesh. The knowledge that it was his own was almost enough to make him regurgitate what little was left in his stomach.

 

“I wonder, did you get your filthy mouth from Dean, or was it the other way around? The more I hurt him, the more viciously he cussed. I told him up front that I’d use the wires every time he said something I didn’t like, but he was remarkably stubborn. Even had the nerve to insult my wife. But I exhausted him in the end; he just couldn’t muster up the energy to keep at it. I found it endlessly amusing, the way he would start to swear and then cut himself off – he would look at me with wide-eyed terror, wondering if the slip up had earned punishment. Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn’t – I liked to keep him guessing.”

 

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Cas spat.

 

His muscles were screaming at him before the current let up, and the pain didn’t stop. Little after-shocks kept running through him. He could feel every hair on his body and the rough press of concrete was unbearable against his hyper-sensitive skin. Every inch of his body ached. He hadn’t even known that his toes could hurt like that.

 

Jeremy shook his head. “Peas in a pod, you two. You know what I’m going to do, but you push me anyway.”

 

“Is – that all you’ve got?” Cas rasped.

 

“Electro-shock torture does grow dull after a while, but it was an effective training tool. I couldn’t take Dean out of the cage for some more intimate sessions until he learned some obedience.”

 

Cas pushed himself back onto his hands and knees. “Admit it, Jeremy; you kept him in here because you knew full well that he could kill you with a single blow.”

 

“Oh, he certainly thought so. The first day I let him out, I told him he had to crawl like the dog he is or he’d be sent right back into his cage, and what did he do?”

 

“He stood up,” Cas said proudly. He knew Dean.

 

“He did. He launched himself at me and tried to get his hands around my neck. Poor thing didn’t realise that his body wouldn’t work for him like it used to, after spending so long cooped up in his cage with very little food to eat. One blow knocked him down like a house of cards. The next time I let him out, I thought he might have learned his lesson.”

 

“Dean doesn’t give up that easily.”

 

“No,” Jeremy sighed. “I’m afraid he didn’t have much better luck the second time. He busted his nose and sprained his wrist pretty badly. Wouldn’t even let me bandage it for him. I hoped that by the third attempt he would have realised the futility of his actions, but the fool tried it again. Unfortunately, I had to resort to harsher teaching methods.”

 

Out of nowhere, another shock took Cas to the ground.

 

“No, not that. Too much repetition is boring, after all. No, I let him stand up – even gave him to chance to find his balance on those weak, wobbly legs of his. I invited him to join me upstairs, and would you believe it, he actually made it up there? It took such a gargantuan effort, I almost felt bad for punishing him. But I did what I had to.”

 

Cas was trembling with anger (he refused to believe it had anything to do with the pain still reverberating through him). “Which was?”

 

Jeremy’s face morphed into a falsely apologetic expression. “I took his knees out with a baseball bat.”

 

Something cold clenched in his chest. He saw Dean’s face, the pain and frustration he’d felt every time his knees gave out on him, the distress in his voice as he admitted _"The rat bastard fucked up my knees and now I can’t-_ ”

 

Jeremy had crippled him. Dean’s knees were never going to heal properly, and it was Jeremy’s fault. He had inflicted that damage deliberately, maliciously, and he had _enjoyed_ it.

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Cas growled. “But before I do, I’m going to make sure you feel the same pain that he felt, you fucking _asshole_.”

 

“Oh, don’t be that way, Cassie. I didn’t hit him hard enough to shatter his kneecaps completely, but – well – he didn’t stand up again after that. Which was the point, of course. He called my wife a bitch, so I made him mine.”

 

“You’re a sick bastard.”

 

Jeremy shrugged. “I suppose so. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting bored of all this talking. I was patient with Dean, but I don’t have the time to train you to heel like I did with him.” He pulled a gas mask and a small canister out of his pocket. “Don’t worry, this won’t knock you out for long. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on any of the fun.”

 

Cas tried to hold his breath as the medicated smoke hissed towards him, but his lungs demanded oxygen and he was forced to suck in the contaminated air.

 

Darkness rushed over him.

 

When he regained consciousness, he found that he was spread-eagled on top of the cage. His wrists and ankles were chained down tightly, and Jeremy was bending over him.

 

“Now where were we?” he smiled.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS apply for this chapter. NON-CON, mentions of past rape.

“Ooh, this is one of my favourites.”

 

Cas closed his eyes and turned his head away, refusing to play Jeremy’s sick game.

 

“Look, Castiel, you can see the tears in his eyes.”

 

He wasn’t going to look. He had seen Dean’s scars; he didn’t want to see the photographs of those wounds being inflicted.

 

“Did you know that Dean has this habit of only letting out a single tear when he can’t hold back the pain anymore? So strong, so restrained, so _manly_. Of course, I soon worked out how to reduce him to a mess of snot and tears. Oh, see, this one captures it perfectly. He’s practically sobbing, poor thing.”

 

Grief ached in his chest. He wanted to run home to Dean and gather him into his arms, giving him all of the comfort he had been denied for far too long. He had suffered this mad man for months, alone, all alone.

 

“He cried your name,” Jeremy said. “He tried not to when I was in here with him, but sometimes I would sit at the top of the stairs with the light off, and I would hear him. It almost sounded like he was praying to you, begging you to come and save him. But you never did.”

 

Tears wavered under his eyelids, but he wouldn’t let them fall. He wouldn’t give Jeremy the satisfaction.

 

“Ah, now this photo is just beautiful. Look at him, splayed out in open invitation. I bet you’ve seen him like that a few times, hey, Castiel? Of course, you would have been using him for sex, but I don’t swing that way. It was the perfect position for inflicting a good bit of pain, though. He couldn’t move his arms or legs, but when he arched his back there were just _miles_  of vulnerable flesh on display. I couldn’t resist.”

 

Cas remained silent. Jeremy seemed to enjoy his angered responses and they weren’t getting him anywhere, so Cas was bottling up all of his rage to use later.

 

“Castiel, I don’t take very kindly to being ignored.” Jeremy’s voice dropped low in warning. “I’m going to ask you nicely one more time. Look at the photo.”

 

Cas wouldn’t, consequences be damned. He tensed, ready to suffer through any amount of pain.

 

But instead of hurting him, Jeremy swung a leg over him and straddled his hips.

 

Castiel’s eyes shot open.

 

Jeremy’s grin was feral. “That got your attention.”

 

His heart was pounding, but he tried not to let the panic show on his face. “Get off.”

 

Jeremy raked his gaze over him, and Cas became intensely aware that he was unclothed. “That’s the idea,” Jeremy said, lowering his pelvis inch by inch until the crotch of his jeans were grazing Castiel’s cock.

 

“You don’t swing that way,” Cas reminded him, forcing his body to stay absolutely still even as every instinct within him wanted to recoil with revulsion.

 

Jeremy leaned over him to whisper into his ear. “It has nothing to do with attraction. It is about power.” He bit down hard on Castiel’s ear lobe and when he pulled back there was blood trickling down his chin. He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting the copper tang. “You were defying me, just like Dean used to. I suppose it makes you feel like you still have some degree of control over the situation. But you don’t. I have all the power here. If I want to rut against you until I come in my pants, I can. If I want to stimulate your cock until you are rock hard and begging for release, I can. If I want to fuck you bloody, I can. You are entirely at my mercy.”

 

Cas was struggling to breathe. Fear was clamouring in his mind but he tried to think past it, tried to find the rage again.

 

“Physical pain is one thing. I learned how to make Dean scream until he was hoarse, but this is what truly broke him. He couldn’t stand having his power taken away like this. He couldn’t push me off, couldn’t prevent me from doing what I wanted.”

 

Jeremy curled his fingers around Castiel’s cock and slowly dragged his hand up the shaft.

 

Cas jolted. He tried to lash out at the man, but the chains held firm.

 

Jeremy tightened his grip. “He just had to lie there and take it. I learned all of his sweet spots – the ones that made him gasp, the ones that made him cry out in a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure.” He twisted his wrist and rubbed his thumb over the slit at his head.

 

Cas could taste hot bile at the back of his throat. But at the same time, he felt his cock began to swell.

 

“Dean hated what I could do to him. He hated the way his body would respond to me no matter how hard he tried to fight it.”

 

Jeremy sped up the movement of his hand. It was dry and rough and painful, but there was a tightening low in Castiel’s belly as his traitorous body reacted to the stimulation.

 

“I told him how disgusting he was for betraying his vows to you. It’s bad enough that he is attracted to men, but he couldn’t even be loyal to the fag he chose to marry.”

 

He tugged particularly hard and Castiel’s hips lifted of their own accord. Fury burned through him; he knew who this man was, what he had done, he shouldn’t be responding to his touch like this.

 

“It seems infidelity is a problem for both of you.” Jeremy tutted, even as his hand worked furiously up and down Castiel’s shaft, rubbing him raw. “That’s not a good foundation for a marriage, you know. How will you ever look him in the eyes after this?”

 

“This is not sex,” Cas bit out. “This is assault. And Dean won’t blame me, just like he knows I wouldn’t blame him.”

 

Jeremy paused. “You think so? Huh. You must feel more secure in your relationship than Dean did. He was convinced you would hate him as much as he hated himself.”

 

“Nothing you did to him could ever change the way I feel about him.”

 

“Too bad you weren’t here to tell him that. He was so ashamed when he had an orgasm while I was buried balls-deep in his ass…”

 

Cas stopped breathing.

 

“And then I told him I sent you the photos and he just went blank. He stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped sleeping, he just stared up at nothing. He was practically comatose. It was a shame, really, because he was no fun after that. He didn’t react to anything I said or did, no matter what I tried. Eventually I had to ditch him.”

 

Cas closed his eyes, but he was too late to stop the hot trickle of tears down his cheeks.

 

_God, Dean, how could I have let this happen to you? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._

“You’re crying!” Jeremy exclaimed, delighted. He bent down to lick the tear tracks from his face.

 

Cas flinched away from him.

 

Jeremy pulled on a sympathetic façade and stroked his hair in a mockery of comfort. “Oh, I know, Cassie, I know, I was sad, too. I thought I had milked Dean for all he was worth. But happier days were just around the corner. I heard that Dean had lost his memory and I realised that the fun was only just beginning. I bided my time, watching and waiting, until he had remembered almost everything. He trusted me, you know. He had a panic attack while you were off somewhere feeling sorry for yourself, and there was no one else for him to lean on so he leaned on me. He let me into the house, let me clean him up – imagine if he had remembered who I was then. I was almost tempted to tell him, just to savour the look of terror on his face.”

 

Cas bit back a string of curse words. He never should have left Dean alone. He never should have trusted this stranger who had shown an interest in them and had gone out of his way to be friendly. He should have been suspicious, he should have vetted the newcomer like they had every other person in the neighbourhood. He should have snuck into his house in the dead of night and slit his throat while he slept.

 

“I waited until he almost had his life back together,” Jeremy continued. “He was so close to being happy - and then I stole you away. His only chance of saving you is to remember what I did to him. He’ll have to face all of that pain and humiliation all over again; blocking it out won’t be an option this time. He is going to come for you, and it is going to break him into so many pieces that not even you will be able to put him back together.”

 

“Not if I kill you first,” Cas growled.

 

Jeremy laughed. “Good luck with that! What are you going to do, stab me with your dick? You can’t even keep it up.”

 

“I’ll find a way. You’ll slip up, make a mistake, and then I’ll have you screaming until your vocal chords bleed.”

 

Jeremy patted him on the cheek. “Your bark is worse than your bite, little puppy dog. How are you at whimpering? I don’t imagine Dean will be too much longer, and I did promise to have you served up like a raw, bleeding steak for him when he arrives. I think I’ll start with skin peeling – Dean couldn’t stand that one.” He settled down more comfortably on top of Castiel’s legs and retrieved a flat-bladed knife. He set the point against his chest. “Fair warning, Cassie. This is going to hurt.”

 

“Yes,” said a voice from the doorway. There was the sound of a gun cocking. “It is.”


	31. Chapter 31

Jeremy immediately shifted the blade so it was pressed against Castiel’s throat.

 

“Easy, boy, you wouldn’t want me to slip and accidentally sever his jugular vein.”

 

Cas couldn’t see past Jeremy, and he knew trying to lift his head would be a fatal mistake, but he could hear solid footsteps on the stairs.

 

“Get the fuck away from him.”

 

Cas knew that voice.

 

“Why, so you can shoot me? I don’t think so.”

 

“Dean, get out of here,” Cas urged. He didn’t want Dean anywhere near this psychopath, especially now that he knew exactly what Jeremy had done to him.

 

“That’s not really how this whole rescue thing works,” Dean said. He sounded calm, steady, but it had to be a front. He had been imprisoned in this basement for more than seven months; being back here was going to trigger a panic attack any second.

 

Cas couldn’t bear to watch Jeremy hurt him again. “Dean, please, go.”

 

“Cassie, is that any way to greet your husband?” Jeremy admonished him, pressing the knife deeper. “Shame on you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t listen to him, Dean, you are more than welcome. In fact, you’re the guest of honour at this party. Come and join the fun! We were just reminiscing over some old photos.”

 

The footsteps stumbled slightly.

 

“I told you to get away from him,” Dean repeated, but there was a slight tremor in his voice.

 

“I’d love to, Dean, but I need you to put that gun of yours down first. Then we can talk about this all civil-like.”

 

“There’s nothing to talk about. Get the fuck off him, or I’ll put a bullet through your brain.”

 

“You won’t risk Cassie. If you pull that trigger, he’ll die the split-second before I do. I know you don’t want that. Come on, Dean. Put the gun down.”

 

“Dean, don’t worry about me. Just shoot him.”

 

“Hush, Castiel, no one is asking you.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I said shut up!”

 

The knife broke skin; Cas could feel blood oozing down his neck.

 

“Half an inch more and he’s a dead man,” Jeremy snapped. “You have three seconds to drop your weapon, Dean. Three, two-”

 

There was a clatter of metal against concrete.

 

Jeremy smiled. “That’s better. Kick it over here.”

 

Cas heard the gun skitter across the floor.

 

“There’s a good boy. Now, let me tell you how this is going to work. You want me to let your husband go, and I’m happy to do it. But in exchange, you are going to get down on your hands and knees and crawl back into your cage where you belong.”

 

“Go fuck yourself.”

 

“I’d rather fuck you again. But I can settle for Cassie, if you’re not willing to give yourself up for him.”

 

“Don’t you _fucking_  touch him!”

 

“What, like this?”

 

Cas stiffened as a hand closed around his cock and began to squeeze.

 

“Don’t even think about it, Dean. He’ll bleed out before you can make it over here.”

 

Cas couldn’t contain his gasp as the crushing pressure increased.

 

“Stop it!”

 

“Kneel.”

 

“Fuck y-”

 

Jeremy _t_ _wisted_  and Cas screamed.

 

“ _No_ , Cas-!”

 

“ _Kneel_.”

 

There was a heavy sound of knees hitting the floor.

 

“That’s better.”

 

Cas dragged in a desperate gulp of air as Jeremy let go and climbed off him. Sickening throbs of pain were still radiating through his body, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Jeremy was stalking towards Dean and Cas had to stop him. He yanked violently at his chains, not caring that the manacles were cutting into his wrists.

 

“You’re such a good doggy, coming home to papa,” Jeremy crooned.

 

The chains wouldn’t budge. “Fuck. Dean, run. RUN!”

 

Cas wasn’t expecting Dean to listen to him, but suddenly he was scrambling up the stairs.

 

“Hey!” Jeremy yelled. He sprinted after him and within seconds they were both out of sight.

 

“Shit, _shit_!” Cas nearly wrenched his arms out of their sockets trying to get loose. He knew Dean couldn’t outrun Jeremy, not with his knees so badly damaged from being hit with a fucking _baseball bat_ \- “Fuck it, FUCK!”

 

There was noise on the stairs again and Castiel’s heart leaped into his throat – he thought he would look up to see Jeremy dragging an unconscious Dean back down here to throw him in the cage.

 

But instead he saw Sam.

 

“Sam-?”

 

“Shh,” Sam urged. He was wielding bolt cutters.

 

“I thought-”

 

“Of course I wasn’t going to let him come alone, what do you take me for? Stay still.”

 

Cas held his body rigid as Sam wedged the bolt-cutters around a link in the chain and clamped down hard. His left hand was freed and his muscles burned as he lowered his arm to his side. “Ow.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” Cas lied. After hearing about what Dean had been through, he figured he had nothing to complain about, even though every inch of his body ached and he was fairly certain the most vulnerable part of his anatomy was deeply bruised. “You need to hurry.”

 

Sam made short work of the remaining chains and helped Cas sit up. His body was trembling; he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to stand.

 

“Go help Dean,” Cas said.

 

“Are you sure you-?”

 

“Go!” Cas barked. He would be damned if he let Jeremy lay a single finger on Dean. His body was going to get its fucking act together and Sam was going to protect Dean until Cas could get there to blow Jeremy’s fucking brains out himself.

 

Sam didn’t hesitate; he took the stairs two at a time and ran after his brother. At least one of them was physically fit.

 

Cas struggled to crawl across the cage, finally dropping off the edge onto the floor. He groaned as the impact sent pain reverberating through his abused body, but he wasn’t going to mope around feeling sorry for himself. He scooped Dean’s gun off the floor and climbed painfully to his feet.

 

He could hear shouting and the sound of a brutal fist fight.

 

Cas gritted his teeth and ran up the stairs to join the fray. He found them in the kitchen.

 

Jeremy had his hands around Dean’s neck but Dean headbutted him. He reeled backwards into Sam who socked him in the jaw hard enough to send him spinning into the counter. Jeremy snatched a knife from the knife-block and slashed at Sam. He ducked and Dean barrelled into him. They both crashed to the ground.

 

There was a fierce struggle and Dean gained the upper-hand for half a second before Jeremy planted his boots in his chest and shoved him away. His head struck the edge of the counter and he went down, stunned. Jeremy was on top of him in an instant, knife bearing towards his throat, but Sam wrenched him off. Jeremy spun and elbowed Sam in the nose – there was an awful crunching sound and blood spurted everywhere, but Sam fought through it and managed to wrestle the knife off him. He tossed it across the room.

 

Jeremy punched him square in the face, once, twice, harder each time. His fist was coated in blood and Sam’s nose was a shattered mess but that didn’t stop him from cracking a blow across Jeremy’s jaw.

 

Jeremy rolled with the impact, coming up three feet away. He lunged for Sam again.

 

Cas shot him.

 

Not anywhere crucial; he wasn’t allowed to die yet.

 

The bullet took out his left kneecap in a spray of bone and blood. Jeremy let out an unholy shriek and hit the floor.

 

He was neatly incapacitated, but Cas wasn’t finished.

 

He lined up his second shot, and this time it was Jeremy’s right kneecap that was obliterated. He screamed louder and all Cas felt was a grim sense of satisfaction.

 

Dean groaned and rolled over. He was greeted by the sight of two mangled legs and his face blanched pure white.

 

Castiel’s cold rage vanished in an instant; he had meant to get revenge for Dean’s injuries, not remind him of them. “Dean-”

 

Dean looked at him and his gaze found the gun in his hand. He looked back at Jeremy, who was still howling in agony.

 

Dean stood up slowly.

 

He looked down at the man who had abducted him, tortured him and raped him.

 

“Kneel,” he said.

 

Jeremy stared up at him, wide-eyed. There were no cocky responses now; only ragged gasps of pain.

 

Dean held out his hand and Cas passed him his gun. Dean checked the bullets in the chamber and then snicked the safety off. He aimed the barrel directly at Jeremy’s head.

 

“I said kneel.”

 

“My knees – I – I can’t-”

 

Dean’s face was utterly void of expression. “Kneel, or your brains will be decorating this floor.”

 

Whimpering, Jeremy dragged his body off the tiles and attempted to manoeuvre his legs into a kneeling position. Tears sprung to his eyes. “I can’t. I can’t, it hurts, it hurts too much.”

 

“I promised it would,” Dean said flatly. “I ganked your dead wife, and you wanted payback. You hurt my husband; this is mine.”

 

He pulled the trigger.

 

Jeremy’s body hit the floor with a resounding thud.


	32. Chapter 32

It was a dramatic scene. There was a body on the floor lying in a pool of blood. Dean’s gun was trailing smoke. Sam had a spectacularly broken nose, and Cas was stark naked.

 

“We should find you some clothes,” Dean said.

 

Cas blinked. After the intensity of the past 24 hours, it probably seemed like an odd come-down. “It is likely that mine are around here somewhere.”

 

“You guys have a look around, I’ll dispose of - this.” Sam gestured to the body.

 

Dean and Cas went to search the house for something Cas could wear while Sam dragged the body out the back door.

 

Dean steadfastly ignored the pictures on the wall of a young newly-wed couple, happy and smiling at the camera, looking forward to a bright future together.

 

He found Castiel’s clothes in the bedroom.

 

“Here they are,” Dean said. They had been folded neatly and put away in the cupboard. “Right next to mine.” They were the clothes he had been wearing on his last hunt, still scuffed with dirt and stained with sweat. He must have looked a fright, that evening at the bar. “Strange sort of trophy.” He pulled out Castiel’s clothes and handed them to him. “Here you go. Should probably just burn mine.”

 

Cas accepted the pile, but he made no move to put them on. “Dean?”

 

“Yeah, Cas?”

 

Cas was doing that head-tilt thing of his and his blue eyes were filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

 

“Fine. You should get dressed. You’ll catch a cold.”

 

Cas put his shirt on first, covering the burn wounds. Dean was relieved to notice that there were no other injuries, aside from the thin line at his neck and the angry swelling where Jeremy’s hands had not been gentle. Cas pulled his shorts on gingerly, trying not to wince. The pants were more of a struggle.

 

“I’m going to go mop up the blood in the kitchen,” Dean said. “Find something to barricade the basement with, would you?”

 

Not waiting for an answer, Dean retrieved some cleaning supplies from the laundry and set about removing the evidence of what they had done.

 

After all, Jeremy had been human, and Dean had just killed him in cold blood.

 

He lost count of the number of times he rinsed blood and brain matter out of the mop. Distantly, he could hear the sound of Sam digging in the backyard and Cas hammering wooden panels over the basement door. He scrubbed at the tiles until every trace of Jeremy was gone and then he kept scrubbing until the tiles gleamed.

 

“Dean?”

 

“He’s gone.”

 

Cas frowned a little as he surveyed the spotless state of the kitchen. “Yes. Dean-”

 

“Is Sam finished?”

 

“He’s finishing now.”

 

“Good. We should get going.”

 

Dean led the way to the car, only to realise that Sam still had the keys. He wanted to ask for them back, but he had a feeling that would be a bad idea.

 

He loitered awkwardly by the vehicle until Sam showed up, brushing the dirt from his hands.

 

“Finally. Can we get out of here?”

 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”

 

“Peachy.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“Sam, unlock the damn car so we can get the hell out of dodge.”

 

Sam and Cas exchanged glances.

 

“Oh for- We came, we saw, we kicked ass.”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Sam dragged a hand through his hair. “Okay, well, I’m not, and I don’t think Cas is either. My nose is broken and Cas should get those burns looked at.”

 

“You’re saying we need to go to the hospital.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Great. Good. Let’s go, then. You want me to drive?”

 

Sam hesitated. “No, I’ve got it.”

 

“Right.” Dean had no interest in being dragged into a conversation so he climbed into the back of the car, much to Sam’s evident surprise. He was expecting Cas to take the passenger side, but Cas chose the seat next to him instead.

 

Dean folded his arms and stared out the window as Sam started the car.

 

They were three miles down the road before Cas spoke. His voice was pitched low so they could talk privately. “Dean?”

 

“What?” he grumbled.

 

“Are you going to talk to me?”

 

“About?”

 

“You remembered.”

 

“Yeah.” He didn’t feel elaborating.

 

“Jeremy-”

 

Dean flinched at the name.

 

“-he told me what he did.”

 

Dean closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against the glass. “Awesome.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

 

“Neither do I. But I think we need to. What Jeremy did to me… it was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life, and he only had me for a short time. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through.”

 

Dean knew he should have been checking that Cas was okay, debriefing him on the traumatic experience, offering comfort. But everything was too close to the surface. His own ordeal might have ended months ago, but it was fresh in his mind, like it had just happened yesterday. He couldn’t deal with that, and he couldn’t talk about it either. “No, you can’t. And I don’t want you to. I’d rather you just forget the whole thing.”

 

“That didn’t work out so well for you.”

 

Dean clenched his fists and kept his gaze fixed resolutely on a smudge marring the window. “The son of a bitch is dead now. It’s going to be clear sailing from here on out.” The lie tasted like ashes on his tongue.

 

“No, it won’t. But we can make it through this, Dean. You just have to let me in.”

 

“That isn’t a good idea. Up here, right now-” he tapped his head “-it’s an ugly mess. You don’t want any part of that.”

 

“Yes, I do. That’s what I signed up for when I married you, Dean.”

 

 “You married a different guy. I’m not him anymore. I don’t know who I am.”

 

“You’re Dean Winchester. Your experiences may have changed you, but that’s true of every single person on the planet. You’re still the man I fell in love with. And no matter what you’ve been through, what horrors you suffered, my feelings for you haven’t changed. They will _never_  change.”

 

“Cas, you don’t know-”

 

“I do. I know what happened, and I know that the thought of Jeremy sending me those photos was what tipped you over the edge. You thought that once I knew, I wouldn’t love you anymore.”

 

Tears welled up in his eyes. “You can’t.”

 

“Dean, you saw Jeremy touch me. Do you hate me for it?”

 

“You were chained up.”

 

“So were you.”

 

The tears spilled over; he couldn’t stop them. “No. I wasn’t. He trained me to kneel for him. He made me eat slop from a dog bowl. I did what he wanted because I didn’t want him to hurt me anymore. And when he – did that – I didn’t fight him. He was gentle, and he said if I resisted he would have to get rough, so I just- I let him. I let him, and he made it feel good, and I-” His voice broke. He drew his knees up and hunched against the car door, trying to make himself as small as possible. Sobs were hitching in his throat even as he tried to contain them and he knew his shoulders were shaking but he couldn’t stop.

 

“Dean…”

 

“You hate me. You have to hate me.”

 

“No, Dean. I could never hate you, especially not for something that was out of your control.”

 

“But I just told you-”

 

“Jeremy tortured you for seven months.”

 

“I’ve had worse. I made it thirty years last time. Seven months is nothing. He shouldn’t have been able to break me.”

 

“Dean, it was seven months, added onto the 40 years you spent in Hell, the year you spent in Purgatory, and the life time on Earth that you have spent being beaten down, wounded and even killed by all manner of demons and monsters. You always crammed the pain deep down inside you and drowned it in alcohol in the hopes that it would go away, but you have carried it with you. Jeremy… he was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. You were not weak. Your incredible strength just reached its limit. That is not your fault.”

 

“Even if that were true… I’m broken now.”

 

“In Japanese culture, broken pottery would be repaired with gold. They did not see breakage as the end, it was simply an event in the life of the object. After it had been tenderly pieced back together with the loving care of a craftsman, it would be seen as all the more beautiful for what it had been through.”

 

“That’s poetic, Cas, but I’m not a piece of pottery.”

 

“No, you’re human. Just as susceptible to knocks and injury, but far more valuable. I know Jeremy hurt you. But if you let me, I’ll pick up the pieces and help put you back together again.”

 

“That won’t be easy.”

 

“Nothing worth doing ever is. But I would never give up on you, Dean. I think you know that.”

 

Dean glanced down at the ring on his finger. “For better or for worse, huh?”

 

Cas took his hand and gently tugged so that Dean turned around to face him. “From now into eternity. We made that promise in front of our family, and friends, and God himself. I intend to keep it. What about you?”

 

“If you’ll have me…”

 

“I couldn’t imagine my life without you. Whatever happened in the past, and whatever our future holds, I’m yours and you are mine. We’re going to get through this, Dean. You have to trust me.”

 

Dean remembered Cas saying those words to him, that first day when Dean had confronted him in the alley. At the time, Dean had said he didn’t trust him, because Cas had been as good as a stranger despite the twin wedding bands they wore.

 

Now he answered without hesitation. “I trust you, Cas.”

 

Cas smiled at him. “Good. Then we’ll be fine.” His gaze flicked to Dean’s lips, but he didn’t lean forward.

 

Dean didn’t want to stay broken forever, and he didn’t want to let what had happened with Jeremy damage what he had with Cas. They had fought too long and too hard to be together.

 

Besides, Dean loved kissing.

 

So he snagged the front of Castiel’s shirt and pulled him closer.

 

“Are you sure?” Cas asked.

 

Dean smiled. “Yeah, Cas. Kiss me.”

 

ooOOoo

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No doubt – endings are hard. But then again... nothing ever really ends, does it?" -- Chuck


	33. Epilogue

It was moving day.

 

Dean and Cas had spent the past month living at the bunker with Sam, needing a safe space to rest and recuperate. Neither of them had been willing to return to the house; Jeremy had tainted it. Even though he was gone, they would never be able to look at the house across the street without remembering how he had been watching them, and the knowledge that he had broken into their home would have haunted them as they tried to go about their lives.

 

But Dean had meant what he said about retiring, and he knew they couldn’t hide in the bunker forever.

 

It had taken a while to finalise the details, but they had managed to sell the house and put down a payment on a new place in Lebanon, Kansas. It was five minutes from Sam, but had all the hallmarks of normal civilian life – a green lawn, a letter box, a white picket fence and everything.

 

Going back, even briefly, was harder than Dean expected. There were a lot of fond memories in the old house, but they were overshadowed by everything that had happened. He froze on the threshold, flashing back to the moment when he had woken up to discover that Cas was missing.

 

Cas twined their fingers together and squeezed gently. “Whenever you’re ready.”

 

Dean took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.

 

Panic lingered at the fringes of his mind as they began packing up their belongings. He jumped at shadows and the smallest sounds. Movement he saw out of the corner of his eye left his heart pounding, long after he realised it was just a curtain fluttering in the breeze from an open window.

 

 _He’s dead_ , Dean had to keep telling himself. _He’s dead; he can’t hurt us anymore._

 

He almost stopped breathing altogether when he opened the fridge to discover that the remaining beers from the drugged 6-pack were still there. Cas calmly reached past him and took them out. Without any dramatic fanfare, he tipped the contents down the sink and threw away the bottles.

 

“I’ll finish in here, if you want to do the bedroom,” Cas offered.

 

Dean found their wedding photo sitting on the nightstand, right where he had left it. He took a moment, sitting on the bed with the frame in his hands and letting the memories of that day wash over him.

 

_“I’m worried that I’m going to step on your toes,” Cas whispered._

_Dean slipped one arm around his husband’s waist and gently folded their hands together. “Just follow my lead,” he murmured._

_The music swelled around them, but Cas didn’t move. He was wide-eyed, nervous. “Everyone is watching us.”_

_“Look at me.”_

_Blue eyes hesitantly lifted to meet his gaze._

_Dean smiled at him. “Mr Castiel Winchester, may I have this dance?”_

_Cas exhaled, and the tension drained away from him, leaving his muscles loose and pliant. “You may.”_

_Dean pulled him closer so Cas would be able to feel the movement of his hips. He started them off slow, swaying gently in time with the music. As Cas settled into the rhythm, Dean nudged his knee and they stepped together. Cas looked down at their feet, focusing hard, but Dean leaned forward and kissed him. Castiel’s eyes fluttered closed, and his body shifted instinctively to move with Dean._

_Before long Dean was sweeping him across the dance floor. He spun Cas into a twirl and then caught him in his arms. Cas laughed breathlessly, his cheeks flushed and his shirt-tails hanging loose._

_“You’re a natural,” Dean told him fondly._

_“I think I like dancing.”_

_Dean glanced quickly behind him to make sure Sam couldn’t overhear. “Me too.”_

_The music changed and Dean led Cas in a gentle waltz. Usually he was hesitant about public displays of affection, but every person here loved and accepted them just as they were, and he knew that if he wanted to stare into his husband’s eyes all night long he could._

_He drank in the sight of those baby blues and thought that he was the luckiest man on the planet._

_The corners crinkled into a smile and they sparkled with amusement. “You are a bit smitten with me, Dean Winchester.”_

_Dean didn’t try to deny it. “Guilty as charged.”_

_“We’re going to be happy, aren’t we?”_

_Dean leaned in to kiss him, soft and slow. “Yeah,” he breathed. “We are.”_

 

Peace settled over him.

 

When he emerged from the bedroom with two boxes and a few bags, he found that Cas had finished as well.

 

“The moving company will get the rest,” Cas said.

 

Dean nodded. The furniture was due to arrive at the new place a couple of hours after they did.

 

They packed up the car, and Dean took his rightful place behind the wheel. He glanced to where his husband was sitting, right beside him, where he belonged. “Well, Castiel Winchester, are you ready to go home?”

 

“Home is wherever you are.”

 

Dean swatted him lightly on the shoulder. “Sap.”

 

Cas just smiled and took his hand. “You know you love me.”

 

Dean used to be afraid of that word, as though to use it out loud would make him vulnerable. He had hoped that his actions would speak loud enough for the people he cared about to understand how he felt, but after everything that had happened he realised that life was too unpredictable to let the important things go unsaid. Besides, loving Cas wasn’t a weakness. It was what gave him strength.

 

Dean drew their hands up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to Castiel’s knuckles. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”


End file.
